


May the Road

by Ranunculaceae



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anxiety, Because I don't feel like tagging them all indiviually, Crying, Dead May Parker (Spider-Man), Gen, Headaches & Migraines, IronDad and SpiderSon, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Protective Tony Stark, Sensory Overload, The Avengers - Freeform, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-02-15 14:29:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 49,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18671560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ranunculaceae/pseuds/Ranunculaceae
Summary: "It's my turn now, May." Tony's voice is even quieter now. He strokes his thumb lightly along hers. "You and Ben took care of him after his parents died. And then it was just you, and you did a hell of a fantastic job. And now, I promise you that I will look after him. He will be safe. You can rest easy knowing that."May is gone, and Peter doesn't have anyone else to turn to besides Tony Stark.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This starts in the spring following Civil War and Homecoming, with some liberties taken, and will remain in that time frame before Infinity War. 
> 
> Will never contain Infinity War or Endgame spoilers.

He’s suffocating.

Bright lights. Distant sounds. Buzzing in his fingertips. His senses are conflicted – it’s too much input and not enough all at the same time. His heart is trying to tear itself out of his chest; simultaneously he feels it and doesn’t. It’s like he’s stepped outside of himself and someone else is telling him what he is experiencing while he tries to paint a mental picture of the information.

There’s a sickening shade of sea foam green in front of him that looking at leaves him feeling nauseous and itchy. A distant voice is sourced somewhere among the green. He hears his name, the words “breathe” and “okay.”

But he can’t breathe, and it’s not okay, because the world is ending around him. It’s already gone.

He flexes his fingers, remembers that his hands are resting in his lap. They feel like they’re floating. He blinks a few times and looks to the side, away from the rocky ocean of color swirling in front of him, and his eyes latch onto the mahogany curve of an arm chair. He forces his diaphragm to lurch and feels the air pool in his lungs. His mind drifts down a few feet and reconnects with his body. 

Peter is in a private waiting room, having been led in here by this surgeon from his previous place in the general emergency waiting area. They’d come in here just a few minutes ago – too soon since the surgery had started. Peter had known what that meant long before the man had opened his mouth and said the words. He’d said they have people on site to help with this. Counselors, chaplains. Peter had shaken his head.

“I know it’s hard, I’m so sorry.” Peter’s eyes dart back to find the face of the man in front of him, and his expression softens at Peter’s gaze. “Take your time.”

Peter doesn’t want time. It’s a nightmare, every second that passes still in this room, trapped in the weight of this reality as it slowly settles in around him and solidifies in his mind. He doesn’t want to sit in it; he wants something else to happen. Anything. Anything other than this. He can’t quite speak, so finally he just looks back to the surgeon with parted lips and a pleading gaze. The surgeon seems to get it and doesn’t push him, instead just moves ahead calmly.

“We looked into your aunt’s emergency contacts, but she didn’t have anyone listed that we can call.” No, she didn’t. She would have just had Ben and himself, and Ben is gone while Peter sits right here. “Is there anyone we can contact to be here with you?”

Is there? Peter isn’t sure, but he does know that he doesn’t want anyone he knows to be woken on their Saturday morning to a call from a stranger at a hospital regarding himself. For whatever reason, it sounds embarrassing and unnecessary, and like one small thing he might be able to regain control of in this mess.

“Um.” Peter winces at how strangled his voice comes out, loud in his ears. “Can- can I do it?”

“Of course. I’ll step out to give you some privacy.”

Peter nods numbly as the surgeon stands. A few parting words, another apology, a reassurance that he will be around and there are people right outside if he needs anything. Peter’s eyes can’t seem to move from the floor.

He’s alone, and his phone is in his hands. Breathe, in and out. The inhale is so deep that it straightens Peter’s spine as his lungs shudder, but when he releases it his posture crumples again. He sniffs and fumbles with his phone, unlocking it with shaky fingers.

Peter should be feeling something, he knows that at least, but the only thing there is a hollow emptiness. He needs someone here to help fill it back up.

His thumbs are clumsy on the screen, and he can barely focus his eyes enough to see the names of his contacts. He doesn’t know who to call. Ned? His mom would drop everything in a heartbeat to come help, but he doesn’t want that. MJ? No. He has the number of his decathlon coach, but that doesn’t feel right either.

His fingers know the answer and have selected the contact before his mind registers it. The call screen flashes, and Peter shudders on an exhale before lifting the phone to his ear. It rings twice, and then the muffled, grainy sound of AC/DC greets him. Tony’s voice speaks over it.

“Hey kid, I was just thinking about you. I’ve got your shooter here, working on it right now.”

Peter blinks at the patterns in the carpet, trying to think and figure out what the hell Tony is talking about. Then it comes back. The web shooter. It had been badly damaged in a recent patrol – God, was that just last night? – and Peter had swung by the tower and left it with him to fix. Tony is still talking.

“It’ll take some time to finish, though. Probably be done tonight or tomorrow. But, anyway, what’s got you calling so early?”

“Mr. Stark.” Peter’s voice is breaking and barely audible. It gets Tony’s attention immediately. The music on the other line stops, and Peter squeezes his eyes shut as he imagines Tony standing from his table in the lab.

“Pete?”

Peter parts his lips to speak, but no sound comes out. His eyes open again, and finally, he discovers that they’re wet as they blur the image of the room around him. He struggles for a moment, until resigning himself to the blankness of his mind. He has no idea what to say.

“Hey, you there? Is something wrong?”

Breathe. “I need you here.” He doesn’t feel his lips move, but he hears the words drift into the open air.

“Tell me where you are, kid."

“Hospital,” Peter whispers. “Uh. Mount Sinai. Queens. Emergency room.”

“Why are you at the hospital? Are you hurt?” Tony’s voice comes quick and worried.

Peter shakes his head, even though Tony can’t see that. “No, I’m not- I’m fine, it’s not-” He can’t seem to finish, and a sob works its way out of his chest before he can stop it.

“Peter. What’s going on?”

There’s an edge to Tony’s voice now that makes Peter’s stomach twist. He opens his mouth to answer, but again comes up empty, because that’s such a hard question to answer. He doesn’t think he can say it.

“You’re worrying me,” Tony prompts on the other line. “Look, I’m heading to the car, okay? I’m on my way. You said you’re not hurt? Are you sick?”

“No.” Peter brings his free hand up to rub at one eye and the tears rolling down his cheek.

Tony is quiet for a second, and Peter hears the hesitant dread. “Is it someone else?”

A shaky sob is Peter’s initial reply. “Please just come?” He can’t do this over the phone. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to do it in person, either, though.

“I am, kid,” Tony assures firmly. “Is half an hour okay-? No, of course not,” Tony talks to himself. “I’ll take the suit, get there faster.”

Peter shakes his head. “No, you don’t have to take the suit, it’s fine.”

“Are you sure, kid?”

“Yeah, you can just drive. I can wait.” He sniffs and rubs his face, and in doing so notes his shaking hands. The air in here is crushing; he’s still suffocating. Tony obviously already knows that Peter is in bad shape, but actually seeing him like this? He sits up. “I- I need to go. I’m sorry, I just- I’ll see you soon?” Peter pleads.

“Of course. Thirty minutes tops.”

“Okay.” Peter drops his phone to his lap and jabs the end call button with his thumb without any other preamble. He scrubs the heels of his palms roughly over his face.

The sound of the latch turning when Peter grabs the doorknob echoes in his skull, and he stumbles out into the hallway. Back into the chaos. The emergency area is alive with sound and light, and Peter blinks rapidly as it slams into him. A dozen voices, scattered throughout the rooms, the hum and beep of machinery. Peter’s fingers tremble. A nurse sees Peter and starts towards him, but Peter starts walking in her direction in the same moment as he raises a hand to point.

“I’m, uh, is it okay if I- Outside? I need to go outside.”

The nurse falters, and Peter can see any words that she’d had prepared dying on her tongue. Her hands come together in front of her stomach. “I don’t know if-”

“I’m not leaving,” Peter interrupts quickly as he passes her, twisting to maintain eye contact. His breaths are coming faster. “Please. I just- need a second.”

She nods, still looking lost, and Peter hurries to slip through the doors of the hospital. Outside, the noises and the lights are worse, and his face screws up at the unexpected sunlight, but there’s instantly a breeze that ruffles his hair and cools his flushed skin. It seems to enter his lungs a little easier than the chemical-heavy air of the hospital. There are no benches, but that’s alright, so he stumbles just past the windows to lean heavily against the wall.

He knows that inside, they’re watching him to make sure he doesn’t actually make a run for it, and out here he’s even more exposed as people and cars pass by. That doesn’t stop the tears from spilling over anew, though, and the raw sob that rips its way out of his chest. His shoulders hunch, and his face gets buried in his hands as he tries to remember how to breathe.

By the time that Tony’s thirty minutes are up, Peter has calmed considerably, as his heart and breathing seem to have finally caught up with one another. In fact, the numbness has returned, and he stands, dazed, with tear-streaked cheeks and dull eyes as he watches the traffic in the street in front of him, as well as the people filtering in and out of the doors to his left.

He hears Tony before he sees him. The ripping of the engine of his car draws steadily nearer, until it dies nearby. Peter is too tired to try to pinpoint the exact location and chooses to just wait for its owner to make himself known, which he does a minute later.

Tony Stark comes running around the corner. He’s in his usual lab clothes – a band t shirt and old jeans – rather than the usual suit that he wears in public, and Peter feels a stab of guilt for making Tony leave in such a rush. He could have waited a bit longer.

Tony’s expression is thunderous as he looks ready to punch the first person who looks at him into the cement. Luckily, that person turns out to be Peter.  He’s about to burst through the doors of the emergency room and no doubt cause a scene in true Tony Stark fashion, but a quick glance to the side stops him in his tracks when his eyes spot and lock onto Peter.

They both stare. Tony’s eyes are wide, and his fingers twitch anxiously at his sides, while Peter just blinks slowly.

“Peter.” Tony changes course and hurries to stand in front of Peter, his hands hovering uncertainly. “What are you doing out here? Are you alright?” He seems to come to a decision and raises one hand to lie flat on Peter’s forehead, pushing back his hair with the motion. He falters at the sight of tears in Peter’s eyes and lowers his hand to lightly grip Peter’s arm just above the elbow.

Peter draws in a shuddering breath and drops his gaze to their feet. “I’m fine, Mr. Stark. I’m not- It’s not-” Peter clenches his jaw as his heart stutters in his chest. “It’s not me.”

Tony nods carefully, and Peter doesn’t have to look up to know that his expression is creased in concern. “Right,” he breathes. “You said that.” He’s silent for a long moment, hesitating, before he continues haltingly. “Is it-? She’s not-?”

Peter shuts his eyes and lowers his head, and Tony loosens his grip to let him move his arm so that he can bury his face in his hands again.

“It’s alright. Talk to me, kid. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s going on.” Tony’s voice is surprisingly gentle, and it brings fresh tears to Peter’s eyes that roll down his nose. Peter nods into his palms.

“Abdominal aortic aneurysm.”

It’s said in a whisper, just loud enough for Tony to catch. Peter drops his hands and starts wringing his fingers in the space between them, but he doesn’t lift his head. Tony’s hand moves to settle on Peter’s shoulder, heavy and steady, and it makes Peter aware of the tremor that wracks his whole frame. Tony says nothing and just waits for Peter to continue in his own time.

 “She wasn’t feeling well last night. She didn’t want to do anything but lay on the couch and watch movies.”

Peter gulps in a breath, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Tony shift. But Peter’s finally found his voice, and if he stops talking now, he may not be able to get this out later.

“But my spidey sense was going crazy. And looking back, maybe it was about her, but she said she was fine, she was just tired and would go to bed, so I went out. And- And I found that robbery I told you about, where I dropped my web shooter off the roof, but I stopped them and took it to you, and when I got back to the apartment, M-”

Peter clenches his fists. He has to steel himself to be able to say her name. He also knows he’s rambling, but he can’t stop. “May was in bed. I checked on her; she was sleeping. So I went to bed. And this morning I woke up, but she was sleeping in, and I knew she didn’t feel good last night so I didn’t want to bother her. But I still had this feeling, so I finally knocked on her door, and-”

Another sob wracks his frame before he can catch it. The tears are flowing freely down his cheeks and drip onto the sidewalk, where they leave little dark spots against the grey. Tony’s hand moves up to grip the back of his neck. “You’re alright, kid, just breathe.”

Peter shakes his head, perhaps a bit too harshly. “It’s my fault. I should have woken her up earlier. I should have stayed with her last night. I should have listened to my sense. I knew. I knew, Mr. Stark, and I left her.”

“No _._ ” Tony’s voice is firm. “Peter, look at me.” When Peter doesn’t raise his head, Tony puts his fingers under his chin and lifts it to force him. Peter blinks at him miserably. “This is not your fault. You can’t blame yourself. You didn’t know what your sense was trying to tell you.”

Peter shrugs out of Tony’s hand and straightens up, if just so he can lean away a bit. “I just-” Peter flounders. His mood is shifting so rapidly, and suddenly he’s feeling exhausted and drained. His shoulders sag as he deflates in front of Tony. He doesn’t care about sounding childish as he admits it: “I’m scared.”

Tony falters, leaning back onto his heels and glancing towards the doors of the hospital. When he speaks, his voice is hesitant. “Okay. That’s okay.” He meets Peter’s eyes firmly. “We’ll get you through it.” A pause. “So. An aortic aneurysm, you said? Is she in surgery? How long..?”

Oh.

Peter hasn’t actually said that part.

He’s not sure how he says it now. Maybe he’s just too detached. Too tired.

“She’s gone, Mr. Stark. About an hour ago.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is a behemoth. 50,000 words written and growing. I've had this in the works for a long time (a year to be exact) because I wanted to do this right before sharing it.
> 
> It's going to be a journey. I hope you'll join me on it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to everyone who’s commented, subbed, bookmarked, and left kudos already! You guys give me such motivation and I appreciate all of you.
> 
>  
> 
> WARNINGS: this chapter involves the viewing of a body. 
> 
> I debated keeping this in for a long time, but it’s based on some of my own experiences and is a big part of what this fic was originally born out of, so I’ve kept it.
> 
> It isn’t graphic, but if content like this is difficult for you, there’s some stuff that happens before it, and it takes place in the last portion of the chapter. You can skip over the rest of it at that point and come back when the next chapter is up.
> 
> Take care of yourself first ❤️

Peter loses track of how long they both stand outside. Tony moves to stand beside Peter, a comfortable distance between them, and they quietly observe the comings and goings around them, each lost in their own thoughts. Peter tips his head back against the wall of the hospital and shuts his eyes, while Tony patiently allows Peter this moment of calm.

Eventually, they walk back inside, and Tony keeps a hand lightly at the small of Peter’s back to reassure him of his presence, which Peter is extremely grateful for. They approach the desk, and the nurse smiles kindly at Peter and appears unfazed by the presence of the man beside him.

Peter only half hears what she is saying as she and Tony speak; something about how May has been taken care of, that she’s no longer in the operating room, once again that they have a chaplain and counselors and resources if he wants, but Peter’s breath hitches in his throat.

“Can I see her?” he blurts before he realizes it.

Tony clears his throat beside Peter as the nurse hesitates. “Buddy, I don’t know-”

“She’s my aunt,” Peter cuts him off, his head whipping to fix him with his wide-eyed gaze. “She’s the only family I have left. Please.”

“She’s… downstairs,” the nurse supplies in a halting voice.

Peter’s eyes well up as he realizes what that means. The tremor is back, but he pushes through. “I don’t want to do anything until I see her.”

It’s a battle, and Peter is crying again. He’s relentless, though, and soon enough the nurse makes a call and is leading them deeper into the building. Tony walks just a few steps behind Peter’s shoulder, offering his quiet support. She says that she can lead them down, but that they just need some time to get ready, and Tony flashes her one of his smiles as he thanks her.

It’s not like they make it out to be in the movies. The lowest floor of the hospital looks just like the rest of the hallways upstairs. It’s not dimly lit or musty. There’s no one in a corner wailing while a doctor pats their shoulder and apologizes. It’s just Peter, standing motionless outside of the grey, windowless door, with the panel beside it that reads “morgue”. Tony hovers a few feet behind him, unspeaking. The nurse respectfully departs.

Peter stares at those six letters. The panic is creeping back up again. Peter’s chest feels like it’s being crushed like a soda can, and he rubs his sternum as he draws a shaky breath. It’s not enough, though, and he stumbles backwards a step as he continues to breathe in short gasps.

Tony is there immediately with a strong hand on his back. “Peter. Breathe.”

Peter shakes his head as he turns to face him, and Tony doesn’t try to hold him back. His hand just shifts to clasp Peter’s shoulder instead. Their eyes meet – Tony’s worried and Peter’s terrified as they rapidly fill with fresh tears. “I can’t do this, Mr. Stark,” he pants, still holding his chest.

“You don’t have to,” Tony quickly assures him. “We can go somewhere else. No one’s making you go in.”

But Peter shakes his head. “No, I don’t mean that.” Another gasp, and Tony brings his other hand up to now grip both of Peter’s shoulders. “I want to see her. But- Tony I’m not ready to lose her.”

Well. That’s new. But neither Tony nor Peter have a chance to dwell on the name slip because Peter is breaking down.

He feels the same way he did earlier while listening to the surgeon. His world is turning grey and foggy at the edges; his limbs simultaneously feel like they’re being lifted by helium and dragged down by Mjolnir. There’s not enough air in here. Tony bites back a curse and pulls Peter forward, crushing him against his chest with one arm while his other cradles the back of his head, fingers pushing into his hair. Peter’s own hands fumble against Tony’s abdomen before they grab at his t shirt.

“Okay,” Tony breathes, his cheek resting against Peter’s head. “I know. I’ve got you.” Tony evidently doesn’t know what else to say. He runs his hand up and down Peter’s back and listens to Peter’s rapid breaths puffing over his collarbone. The muscles under his fingertips are taut and trembling. “Breathe with me, Peter,” Tony tries again, this time more firmly.

It’s hard, but Peter forces himself to pay attention to the way Tony’s chest is rising and falling against him and tries to mimic the rhythm. He draws in one slow breath and tries to follow through on the exhale, but his diaphragm lurches, and he’s sent right back into hyperventilation. He leans heavily into Tony.

“No, no, kid,” Tony hushes. He smooths both hands down Peter’s sides soothingly, then winds them around Peter’s triceps. “You’re going to pass out on me if you keep that up. Try to slow it up a bit. One more deep breath, with me. In.” Tony takes an over-exaggerated breath, and Peter’s chest lifts to follow. “Good. Out.” He lets the air out in the same dramatic fashion, and Peter splutters as he copies. “Again.”

This continues for some moments. Tony coaches him through his breaths until Peter stops struggling to stay at such a slow pace. Finally, the lightheaded sensation fades, and Peter feels safe enough to lean back from Tony and stand up straight. His ears are burning.

“Sorry about that.” He sniffs and awkwardly releases Tony’s t shirt before rubbing his hands over his cheeks then jamming them into the pocket of his own hoodie.

Tony just observes Peter worriedly. “No need to apologize. I know it’s a lot. This is a perfectly normal reaction.” Tony releases one of Peter’s arms, and his grip slackens on the other. “We’re going to get you through it, though, okay? I’ll be right here with you.”

 “Okay.” Peter pauses. “And- in there? You’ll go in there with me?”

Tony’s eyes soften. “If you want me to, of course. Whatever you need.”

Peter manages to offer a shaky smile at that. His shoulders fall as he breathes out the last of the tension held in them. For a moment, he feels like he can do this. He’s not alone.

Then the door opens; the spell is broken. Peter’s heart skips, and it must show on his face because Tony’s hand tightens on his arm as he lowers his chin, not moving his steady gaze from Peter, who takes a deep breath and a second to recompose himself. He looks back over his shoulder to see a woman in a white lab coat standing in the hallway now, the door shut again behind her.

“Peter Parker?” Peter just nods and shuffles his feet to face her more fully. The woman smiles gently, and Peter finds himself relaxing again as she steps forward. “I’m taking care of May.”

She goes on to explain what’s about to happen. Her voice is a strange mixture of firm yet comforting. The words she’s saying are abrupt – she’s not dancing around anything. But her tone is caring.

“The room is clear. No one else is going to interrupt you in there. May is towards the middle, and she is covered with a blanket. I’ve left her face and her left arm uncovered, though. You may touch her, if you want. That’s okay. But some time has passed, and she will be cool to the touch. You can spend as much time with her as you like. If you need to step out and come back, that’s alright too. And Mr. Stark,” she looks past Peter to smile at Tony, “you’re of course welcome to join Peter. I’ll be in the room as well. I’d be happy to answer any questions you two have or do anything to make you comfortable, okay?”

Peter finds his head nodding of its own accord. He looks back over his shoulder at Tony, who gives Peter an encouraging nod.

“Whenever you’re ready, I can take you in to see her,” she says gently beside him.

Peter draws a breath. He’s still looking at Tony. “You’ll go with me?” His voice is back to a whisper. Tony nods again. “Okay. I’m ready.”

She smiles that calm smile again, and the door is back open behind her. She steps inside and holds it patiently. Peter’s feet carry him forward uncertainly until he’s standing in the doorway, but he freezes there.

May is on the center table, a light blue sheet spread over her body. The hem is rolled up a few times where it lays across her chest and right arm. Her left arm is free and rests along her side, her fingers curled slightly. It looks like she’s beckoning them closer. There’s nothing hiding her from the shoulders up, and Peter’s eyes land on her face and can’t seem to break away.

“Go on, Peter,” Tony murmurs behind him. “It’s okay.” He presses into his back to urge him forward. Somehow, Peter gets his feet to move and take him slowly over to the side of the table until he’s standing over May.

Her skin is pale, and she’s far too still. Her eyes are closed. The muscles in her face are relaxed. Her expression is peaceful, and her lips have settled into something of a small smile. It’s nothing like the twisted cries of agony that Peter had seen torn from her just hours ago.

He knows Tony is standing right behind him because he can feel the warmth radiating from him onto his back, but he doesn’t make any direct contact. The woman is on the other side of the room, seated at a computer.

Peter draws in a slow breath that expands his chest completely before he lets it go. His eyes fall to May’s hand, which rests directly in front of him. Hesitantly, he lifts his own hand, reminds himself that she had said this was okay, then curls his fingers around May’s palm. The cold shocks him, even though he had known it would be there, and his free left hand fumbles backwards until he latches onto Tony’s fingers as well. Tony grasps back firmly. May doesn’t move.

Time stops working for Peter. It feels like everything around him slows until it just… stops. The sound of typing drifts out of focus. The hum of equipment fades. The edges of his sight blur until the only thing he can see is his pink, healthy fingers wrapped around May’s lifeless ones. It’s just him breathing now, along with the steady jumping of Tony’s pulse that Peter can feel in his thumb. They stretch out into infinity in this one second that will last the rest of Peter’s life.

Some stools are brought over, along with tissues and a trashcan. Numbly, Peter wipes his face and shifts to sit down before turning back to the table where May lies. She is about level with his chest now, and he leans forward to lay his arm alongside May’s. He plops his chin down on top of it and looks back up towards her face, eyes roving over every feature, memorizing it.

Tony lets the next 45 minutes slide by, never interrupting Peter and just offering his support by grounding him with a light touch or handing him tissues. They don’t speak much. There isn’t anything to say.

Finally, though, after they’ve been in the room for an hour, Tony shifts in his seat. Peter closes his eyes and continues to trail his fingertips idly along the back of May’s forearm, bracing himself for what he knows Tony is about to say.

“How about we get going soon, kiddo?” Tony rests his hand on the back of Peter’s head as he speaks. “I know you don’t want to leave, but you’ll see her again. We have a lot to do, and I want to get you something to eat, because I’m willing to bet that it’s been a while since you last had anything.”

Peter is initially surprised when no fresh tears come to his eyes at the idea of leaving May. It’s just that numbness and exhaustion. He knows Tony’s right, so he agrees softly and pushes himself up from the stool. Another long look at May’s face that might as well have lasted into the next century. He leans down and presses his forehead to hers.

“Love you, May.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you thank you to each and every one of you reading this! Seeing your feedback and reading all of your lovely comments is quickly becoming the favorite part of my day.

Peter steps out into the hallway, feet shuffling and eyes downcast while he waits for Tony. He glances back over his shoulder into the morgue, then looks ahead down the hallway, and freezes.

There’s a man there, dressed professionally with his hands clasped in front of himself, and Peter’s spider sense screams.

He takes a step forward, introduces himself as being from CPS, and asks if they can talk.

Peter, at first, is too frozen with panic to move, but Tony appears and easily shoulders his way protectively in front of him to address the man for him. Peter has no next of kin, and therefore no one he can be released to, so he’s a ward of the state. Tony is defending Peter and saying that he won’t let him go. That he needs to be with someone he trusts. The man challenges how Tony even knows Peter.

“He’s my intern,” Tony lies easily. “I’ve known him for about a year now, and I was the one that he called to be with him today. Peter can stay with me.” Tony’s voice is calm as he says it, as if it’s the most casual thing in the world, and it jolts Peter from his shock and makes him step around Tony’s shoulder to gaze at him with wide eyes. Tony meets his gaze evenly and continues speaking, addressing Peter now in a lower voice. “That is, if you’re okay with that. At least for now, until we figure this out.” Peter’s smile grows slowly, and then he nods carefully.

“You know there’s a lot that goes into this, Mr. Stark. We can’t just let you leave with him.”

“So, we won’t leave the hospital,” Tony rolls his eyes and sighs in exasperation. “I’ll get my guys on it right now. It’ll be taken care of. But. Right now, I need to get this kid fed before he completely collapses on me. Let’s go, Peter.”

Tony pulls Peter alongside him as he walks confidently past the man, and Peter glances at him sheepishly as they pass, then ducks his head and allows Tony to guide him back through the hospital. They don’t say anything until they arrive at the cafeteria, where Tony loads two trays full of food, one of them supposedly for himself, but when they reach a table Tony places both in front of Peter.

 “I want at least half of it gone,” Tony tells him firmly, though his gaze is gentle.

Tony then buries himself in his phone, occasionally speaking to FRIDAY or stepping away from the table to make a call. All the while, Peter picks at a bowl of pasta, unable to bring himself to eat very much. His stomach feels heavy as it is, and swallowing sounds like a chore. He mostly opts to sip at his drink. Each time Tony returns to the table and sees how little progress Peter is making in his meal, his mouth quirks wordlessly, although the sight of Peter at least hydrating himself appears to make Tony happy.

Eventually, Peter reaches a point where one more bite is going to make him sick, so he pushes the trays to the far side of the table. Tony is out in the hallway speaking to his lawyers again. Peter shakes his cup, which is now 90% air and 10% ice slush, but getting up to refill it again is an insurmountable task, so he lets out a slow breath and folds his arms on the table before laying his cheek on them. He lets his eyes unfocus for some minutes, until the sight of Tony striding back towards their table draws his attention again. He doesn’t raise his head, so Tony squats on the ground next to him so that Peter can still see him. There’s a look of triumph dancing in Tony’s eyes.

“Hey, kid. Guess who’s coming home with me tonight?” Tony smirks smugly, and the sight makes Peter return the smile slightly. “There’s a spare room in the penthouse you can use. We can swing by the apartment and pick up some of your stuff, but if you’re not feeling up to it, I have some clothes and other things you can borrow. We can always go there tomorrow, or I can send Happy.”

The idea of Happy going through his things makes Peter grimace, and he’s not too keen on the idea of returning to the apartment just yet either. But he would like to have his own clothes with him, and he knows that waiting until tomorrow won’t make the task any easier.

“We can go there now,” Peter mumbles as he drags himself back into an upright position.

Tony nods curtly and stands. “Alright.”

 

Tony turns his music down to a low volume on the drive over, and Peter sits slumped with his temple pressed against the cool glass of the window as he blinks tiredly up at the now darkening sky. He feels completely numb and empty, as if someone had gouged out every last bit of him. He tries not to pay attention to the way he knows that Tony keeps glancing over at him.

Once in the apartment, Peter spends a few minutes just standing in the middle of the living room, staring at the remains of May’s bedroom door that lay scattered across the floor, where Peter had thrown them after ripping it off the hinges in his desperation to get to her. May’s room is dark and empty. Tony lingers on the threshold, and his unspoken question is palpable in the air.

What happened this morning?

Peter shuts his eyes and keeps his back to Tony.

“Abdominal aortic aneurysm,” Peter repeats the diagnosis in a whisper. He’s weightless. Detached. He can say the rest now. “She bled. There.” He indicates her bedroom with a nod of his head. “It had been expanding all night. This morning, I went to wake her up, knocked on her door, and when she moved, it ruptured. I heard her fall, and- I did this.” He waves his hand, gesturing to the splintered wood.

He hears Tony take a step behind him, and his name starts to leave Tony’s lips.

“I’m gonna go pack,” Peter says in a rush before Tony can get more than a syllable out.

Avoiding Tony’s gaze, he doesn’t look up from his feet on his way to his bedroom. The door shuts a little too loudly behind him, but Peter doesn’t care. His hands are trembling as he digs a duffle bag out from under his bed. It feels like he switches into autopilot as he starts grabbing clothes at random and stuffing them inside. He pulls his Spider-Man suit from the closet and functioning web shooter from his desk, and those are placed inside more gently.

He thinks to grab his backpack, which holds his laptop and school stuff, and he adds his chargers and a few more books to it then heads back out into the living room. The backpack gets dropped lazily on the floor on his way to the bathroom, where toiletries are thrown into the duffel bag with his clothes.

Deciding that this is good enough for now, he scrubs his hands over his face and takes a few breaths while he still has this moment of privacy, then rejoins Tony in the living room. Tony is now holding Peter’s discarded backpack.

“I’m ready.” Peter speaks quietly without meeting his eyes. He doesn’t want to be here any longer than he has to be.

Tony looks ready to make a comment but swallows it. Instead, he reaches a hand forward and places it on Peter’s arm, just above the elbow.

“Okay. Let’s go.” He pats him gently as Peter walks ahead of him out the door and back to the car, bag slung over his shoulders.

The sun is properly setting when they walk back outside, and the way it paints the bricks of the neighborhood golden used to be one of Peter’s favorite sights. Now, though, he just drops himself back into Tony’s passenger seat and returns to his previous position with his head against the window. Tony settles into his own seat, then releases a short sigh. “You got all your Spider-Man stuff out?”

Peter nods against the glass and lets his eyes slip shut when Tony starts the engine back up. “What about the door, Mr. Stark?”

Peter is grateful that Tony knows exactly what he’s asking. “I’m going to send Happy tonight to take care of it. Now, obviously, the emergency workers saw the damage already, and we can’t fix that, but it’s inconsequential. And we can clear it out before anyone else sees it who might ask more questions about a 15 year old kid tearing a door apart like that. No harm done.”

“Good.” Peter falls quiet again, until the car idles at a stoplight, and Peter opens his eyes again. “Will anyone else be there?”

“Will anyone else be where? At the tower?” Tony waits for Peter’s confirmation. “Well, at the tower, yes. In the penthouse, no. Bruce is staying with me, while he’s laying low for a while without completely dropping off the face of the earth. He likes to keep to himself a lot, and he has pretty much a whole floor to himself, so you may not actually see much of him if you don’t want to. There may be others who come visit. They like to drop in from upstate sometimes. But, tonight, it should just be us. Is that alright?”

Peter nods again. The car is moving again, and Peter watches New York pass by outside the window. His neck is getting sore from sitting in this hunched position, so he sits up and stretches it a little. It hits him with a little jolt that he hasn’t been checking his phone all day, and he doesn’t actually know what time it is, so he digs the device out of his pocket.

“Oh, shit.”

“Language. What is it?”

Peter doesn’t look up. He has endless missed calls and text messages from Ned and MJ, and they’re still coming in as he stares at his screen. He scrolls through a couple of them before it hits him why they’re so worried about getting a hold of him.

“It’s almost 7. I was supposed to be at Ned’s place two hours ago! We were going to have a movie night.”

Peter’s face crumples as he reads the anxious texts. Apparently, Ned had gotten worried when Peter was fifteen minutes late, and that had dissolved into him asking MJ if she had heard from Peter, which in turn led to her also contacting him. Peter pulls his lip between his teeth and scrolls back down to start typing a quick response.

“You don’t still want to go over there, do you?” Tony looks doubtful as he glances at Peter, but Peter is sure that Tony would take him if he asked. Peter shakes his head.

“No, I- not tonight.” There’s no more explanation needed. He finishes typing and sends the message.

_P: I’m so sorry, man. Something came up and I lost track of time. Another day?_

The reply is almost instantaneous.

_N: Peter! What happened?? You never showed up._

Peter’s stomach twists at the idea of explaining everything to Ned right now, so he doesn’t.

_P: I’ll let you know later, okay? Tell MJ I’m fine too._

The little dots start flashing at the bottom of his screen to show that Ned is typing a reply, but Peter doesn’t feel like he can deal with that right now and puts his phone away again. He settles back into the seat to just wait until they make it back to the tower.

This is real. He’s going to be staying with his childhood hero Tony Stark for the foreseeable future. Considering everything that has led them to this moment, though, he can’t find too much to be excited about.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to all of you reading, without you there really would be no story.
> 
> After this chapter, things will start to pick up a bit, so stay tuned, and enjoy.

Tony reaches over to tap his watch a few times, and the garage door at the base of Stark Tower swings open for them. Peter slides out of the car as soon as they've stopped and the door is shut again. The duffel bag returns to his shoulder. Tony picks up the backpack again from the back seat and assures Peter that it's fine when he tries to reach for it.

They take the elevator up to the top floor. It’s far from Peter’s first time being in this building, and he’s even been in the penthouse before, but only for short periods of time and only in the common area. Tony voices this when the elevator stops and opens into the entryway.

“Alright.” He adjusts Peter’s bag in his grip and strides purposefully into his home, leaving Peter to enter more slowly behind as he starts pointing things out. “Living room. Kitchen’s right up that way, along with the dining area. You know all of that already. Stay out of the bar, but otherwise you’re welcome to anything. That door heads out onto the landing deck; please don’t touch it. FRIDAY will tell me if you do. That hallway will take you down to the lab. And if we go up here-”

Peter hurries to follow Tony as he starts heading up one of the sets of stairs and continues on.

“Down that way is a bathroom and a few guest rooms. But this is more important. My bedroom,” Tony points to a door to his left, then swivels and indicates the door on the other side of the hallway with an open palm, “and yours.” Peter blinks owlishly, and Tony smiles. “Don’t be shy, kiddo,” he hums. He reaches out and opens the door for him, then waves for Peter to go in, who does.

In comparison to the rest of the penthouse, the bedroom is much more simply decorated. The walls are still sleek and modern, but there are no intricate chandeliers or water pieces. No modern throw rugs. It’s a bedroom. It’s comfortable. Peter sets his duffel bag down on the bed, and Tony sets the backpack down beside it. He straightens and pushes his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“The bathroom in the hallway, you’re of course welcome to use, but there’s also another private one through that door,” he points with a tilt of his head. “Other door is the closet. FRIDAY is also set up in here, just like the rest of the house, so you can ask her for anything anytime. If I’m not here and you need me for whatever reason, or anyone else in the building, like Happy or Bruce, she can contact us.” Tony pauses and glances around the room before looking to Peter again with a small frown. “Is this alright?”

Peter is smiling up at Tony as he finishes his monologue. He nods and takes a step back from the bed, simultaneously turning to face Tony fully. “Yeah, Mr. Stark. This is great. Thank you so much.” His traitorous emotions are doing that thing again where they switch wildly, and he can feel a lump forming in his throat. He does his best to swallow it down.

“It’s no problem. You just make yourself at home.” Tony pauses. “There’s some more stuff I want to get taken care of tonight, so I’m going to make some calls. I’ll be around if you need anything, though.”

Peter nods and thanks him quietly again, and then Tony’s gone. Peter spends some time unpacking his things, but there’s not very much that he’d grabbed from the apartment, so it doesn’t take very long. He ends up back in the common area, laying on the couch with his laptop. Ned is still messaging him like mad on all platforms, but Peter doesn’t even open them.

Peter’s gaze continuously wanders away from his laptop to take in the space around him. He feels strange, being here. Out of place. Like a guest. He’s almost afraid to make any move or touch anything, especially without Tony in the room with him. His eyes rove up upwards from the window overlooking the city and towards the high, curving ceiling above him. He wonders how long it will take to stop feeling foreign here.

As if on que, some minutes later, Tony appears in front of him. He’s still holding his phone and apparently on hold with someone, and he tells Peter that there’s rice and vegetables on the counter if he wants any. He pauses, looking conflicted, and reaches out to lightly brush his fingers through Peter’s hair before disappearing again.

Peter does eat some, if only to keep Tony from worrying, then returns to his quiet fog for the rest of the evening. Eventually Tony returns, looking tired but no longer on the phone, and Peter immediately shifts his legs to make room on the same couch for him. Tony, who had been on course for the other side of the coffee table, pauses before sinking into the space.

They put on a mindless sitcom of Peter’s choosing, though Peter’s eyes have trouble remaining on the screen, and he ends up just listening to the familiar dialogue about mundane problems while he gazes out the window at the city lights. Tony’s hand is on Peter’s shin. They don’t talk.

 

Later that night, as Peter is sitting in his bed, psyching himself up to fall asleep while still on his laptop, still dutifully ignoring the endless messages from Ned, Tony knocks on his door. He doesn’t come in fully and just stands on the threshold to tell Peter that he made an appointment to go to the funeral home in the morning, and Peter just nods tiredly at the news. Tony reminds Peter that he’s right across the hall if he needs anything, wishes him goodnight, then shuts the door quietly again.

 Peter lays awake for what feels like centuries.

The nightmares come in the first hour after Peter finally closes his eyes.

_Peter's sitting on the couch, fiddling with his phone, when his spidey-sense starts prickling the back of his neck. He looks anxiously to May's room, and then he's outside her door, his fist raised to knock. "Aunt May?" His voice is hesitant. His knuckles rap against the wood. Everything happens at once._

_The tingling at the back of his head explodes down his spine and across his limbs; every nerve screams DANGER. The sound of May's bed creaking, then a strangled cry, followed by a low thud._

_"MAY."_

_Peter tries the door knob, but it's locked, so he throws his entire weight against the door. The wood splinters like a toothpick under the force of his super strength, and he throws it behind him and rushes to where May is curled in on herself on the floor beside her bed, arms around her abdomen._

_She's pale, her skin clammy with cold sweat. Peter grabs her cheeks, and her face is contorted in pain. She's trying not to scream. Trying not to scare him._

_Peter's holding his phone. Or maybe it's May's. He's crying as he begs for an ambulance. May moans._

"Peter?"

" _May. May please. What is it? Is it your stomach? They're coming. You'll be fine."_

_He's pulled her into his lap, and her eyes are squeezed shut against his chest while his are leaking tears._

"Peter!"

_Then she's looking up at him, her eyes glassy and not quite focused. Her breathing is labored. "It's okay, Peter," she whispers._

_A hand is on his shoulder. Another grabs his wrist. It's the paramedics; they're trying to rip him away from May. She's not moving. He can't leave her. Someone is shaking him. He fights_.

"Pete! Stop, wake up, kid."

Peter's eyes snap open, and he sits up harshly. His vision can't focus, but he recognizes that the hands he felt in his sleep are in fact real, and they're still holding onto him. His panic heightens, and he claws desperately at the figure above him. He's released immediately.

"Ah- Woah, Peter, look at me. You're safe. It's me. It's Tony."

Tony. Peter blinks rapidly, discovering in the process that the reason he can't see is because there are tears blinding him. He swipes hastily at his face with trembling fingers, and then he can see Tony. He’s leaning over Peter's bed, hands up with palms facing him placatingly. His eyebrows are raised as he waits for Peter's reaction.

Peter's eyes are round and shimmering with tears, and he finds himself unable to hold his gaze and instead stares miserably stares at some point on Tony’s chest, so Tony sighs and switches tactics. He moves from his current position to sit down on the edge of the bed, body angled towards Peter. He keeps his hands visible and open, still, since he doesn’t want Peter to have any reason to think that he may be a threat. “This one’s on me – I shouldn’t have tried to wake you up like that. Obviously, it just scared you, so won’t happen again. Are you alright?”

Tony finishes by quirking an eyebrow expectantly. Peter tries to draw in one slow breath and pulls his thighs up to his chest. “Yeah. Fine.”

But he’s not, and he knows that Tony knows he’s not. Why the hell should he be? He’s trembling, and that gaping hole that’s been in the center of his chest all day is suddenly alive with nerve endings. It hurts. He almost misses the numb grief of earlier compared to this. This is raw. This is visceral. It’s eating him, and he squeezes his eyes shut and drops his forehead onto his knees to hide his pained expression before a sob shudders through him. And this time, he can’t stop more from following it.

In the next second, Tony has a steady hand between Peter’s shoulder blades and one brushing through his rumpled hair. He’s saying something, but Peter can’t focus enough to catch specific words. His tone is calm, though, and Peter knows that that matters more than whatever is being said.

“It’s- my fault- Mis’ er Stark.” Peter hiccups the words between sobs, and he shakes his head harshly when he hears Tony start to protest. “No. I- I woke her. It r- ruptured- when she moved.” He drags in a breath and lets it hiss out between his teeth. His arms tighten around his knees. “I should have been quicker. Ear- earlier. When it wasn’t- so bad. It’s my fault.”

Peter lifts his head as he groans the last sentence, and his hands clutch at his hair hard enough to the point that he’s almost ripping it out.

“Peter, stop.” Tony’s free hand covers one of Peter’s, and he reluctantly releases and drops them back to his lap to clench there. Peter sniffs and shudders, and Tony continues speaking. “It wasn’t your fault. You have to stop blaming yourself. No one could have stopped it. It’s just something that happened that no one could control. We’re going to get you through it.”

Peter knows that he’s right, so he doesn’t argue, but it’s also going to take some time for him to completely move past the guilt. He just nods and focuses on taking a few deep breaths as he wipes at his eyes with the back of his wrist. Tony waits patiently while Peter calms down, though it takes a short while. Once he feels confident that his voice won’t break again, Peter whispers a soft thanks.

“No problem,” Tony replies just as quietly. “Think you can try sleeping again?”

Peter nods, feeling more exhausted than anything else now, and Tony’s eyes are gentle.

“Do you want me to go?”

Peter hesitates, shy, as he glances towards the door. His fingers fiddle with the hem of the blanket. “Uh. Actually, could you-?”

Tony nods in response to Peter’s unfinished question and moves to stand. “Sure. Lay back down.”

Peter does, as Tony shuts the door again before returning. They both settle down, until they’re both on their sides on opposite ends of the bed, facing the middle towards each other. Tony has FRIDAY gradually dim the lights again.

“Go back to sleep, kid,” Tony orders softly. “I’ll be here.”

Peter slowly relaxes back into the bed as he listens to Tony’s steady breathing beside him. After a few minutes of silently debating with himself, he haltingly reaches his hand out and curls it around Tony’s wrist. He feels his fingers twitch at the contact, but Tony doesn’t protest, and the arm doesn’t draw away. Soon enough, Peter is able to drift off again. This time, he stays asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a posting schedule more or less worked out now that I'm hoping I'll be able to stick to, since my idea is to keep this in real time as much as possible from this point on. Chapter updates will also start to slow down just a little bit.
> 
> Again, thank you to all of you.

They go to the funeral home together, and Peter plays with the cuffs of his sleeves and has difficulty meeting anyone's eyes the whole time. There are a few different people that they meet with, but Peter doesn't quite catch any of their names or what their positions are. It's okay, though, because Tony is stepping in and handling all of the business.

May was fairly young, but she'd had a will notarized after she and Ben had taken Peter in. Everything is intended to be left to Peter. There’s a certain amount of money that May had requested be used to cover funeral costs, but Tony vehemently shakes his head. "I'm covering it. That money goes to Peter too."

Peter knows there's some pushback and a lot of legal talk that goes over his head simply because he doesn't pay attention. It's only when he feels Tony tapping at his wrist that he drags his gaze away from a flower arrangement in the corner that he's been staring at.

There are binders on the desk in front of them. Flowers. Caskets. Music. They have to choose all of it. Peter shakes his head and mumbles for Tony to decide as he lowers his gaze and tunes out the world once more.

Finally, they leave. Happy had driven them there, and he takes them back to the tower. Tony sits in the back seat with Peter, but Peter has his body angled away from him and his eyes glued to the city passing by outside the window. They don’t talk. Peter doesn’t miss the wordless glances that Tony keeps sharing with Happy in the rearview mirror, though.

Peter checks his phone for the first time that day after he’s settled deep into the cushions of Tony’s couch while The Rolling Stones croon at him from the kitchen where Tony is cooking. He winces at the torrent of messages that Ned is still sending him, and he’s reminded that he has yet to reply to with anything useful. He still doesn’t have the energy now, but he does read them, at least.

Tony appears above Peter with a small bowl of fried rice and a fork, and he doesn’t look like he’ll be convinced to leave until Peter accepts it, so he sits up and does.

Another hour passes, and Peter is playing a mindless game on his phone when Tony’s voice reaches him and asks if he wants to join him in the lab to work on one of the Iron Man suits. Any other day, Peter would have leapt at the chance, but now he just gazes at Tony numbly for a moment before saying that he’ll pass and laying his head down again. Then there are fingers in his hair, and Peter shuts his eyes. Tony doesn’t go down to the lab that afternoon. He sits with Peter while he continues to silently grieve.

 

Monday morning, Tony offers to have Happy or himself take Peter to school, but Peter declines and decides to take the train. He’s used it to go to the tower after school countless times in the past, so this is no different. The thought crosses his mind to swing there until he remembers that he still doesn’t have his web shooter back from Tony. Neither of them has been in a rush to work on it, and Peter hasn’t even been in the mood to go out on patrol.

Ideally, Peter would like his Monday to be calm. No drama. Just blend into the background and not have to talk to anyone.

Those hopes are dashed the moment that Ned sees Peter get to his locker, and he’s ambushed. MJ is behind Ned, though she’s much more composed.

“Peter! You’re here! You haven’t answered a single one of my texts since Saturday night!”

Peter cringes and doesn’t look up from the books he’s shuffling around inside his locker. “I’m sorry, Ned. Like I said, something happened.” Peter bites his lip.

“What is it? Hey, are you okay?” Ned is standing incredibly close to Peter, and it makes him clench his jaw and shut his locker a bit more harshly than he normally would.

“Yeah. I’m fine. It’s-” Peter huffs. He can’t say it.

“Peter?” MJ’s usually calculating gaze is laced with worry as she moves to be in Peter’s line of sight.

“I- can I tell you guys later? I just-”

“Dude, it’s already been two days,” Ned cuts him off. “You can’t just disappear like that.”

Peter knows he has a point. He looks down at the floor and is quiet for a long moment. “It’s May,” he finally whispers. He can feel tears burning in his eyes and threatening to spill over. He really doesn’t want to cry at school, and especially not before his classes have even begun.

Ned and MJ share a look. Peter knows that MJ has already figured it out, but Ned needs clarification. “Is she..?”

Peter shakes his head and shuts his eyes tightly. Ned starts to say something else, but Peter draws in a breath and starts walking away. “Sorry, I gotta- I’ll see you in chem, okay?” He makes a hasty retreat down the hallway and is grateful when they don’t follow.

Peter has a few classes before chemistry, and he spends them with his eyes down as he takes slow notes. He’s usually animated in discussions, so when he doesn’t even look up from his desk, his teachers catch on pretty quickly that something is wrong and decide to let him be in peace rather than calling him out for not participating. His Spanish teacher tries to talk to him after class, but he weasels his way out of the classroom before he can actually find anything out.

MJ must have spoken to Ned, because during chemistry, he doesn’t bring up the subject for the entire class period, and they just focus on their work. For a while, Peter is even able to properly distract himself with the experiment. It helps.

Then its lunch, and the three friends congregate at their usual table. Peter is still avoiding eye contact and isn’t even making an attempt to eat his lunch, although he is poking at his vegetables with his fork. Eventually, MJ decides that it’s been enough moping and leans forward.

“Peter? You know, you can talk to us. About anything. You don’t have to shut yourself away.”

Peter sighs and drops his hands onto the table. He glances up at Ned and MJ where they sit across from him. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

“No need to apologize, man,” Ned assures. “Just don’t push us away like this anymore.”

Peter nods. He hesitates, but he knows that talking will help, so he plows on ahead. “It’s just- It happened Saturday morning. It’s barely been two days, and-” Peter lowers his head and lets out a breath through his clenched jaw. “It doesn’t feel real.”

“I’m sorry, Peter.” MJ reaches out and lightly touches his hand.

“And- the apartment. All of her stuff is still there. And mine. We haven’t even started going through it.”

MJ’s brow furrows. “Wait. Where are you staying right now? You don’t have any other relatives, do you?”

Peter shakes his head and mentally braces himself for their reactions. “I’m staying with Mr. Stark,” he murmurs softly.

“ _What?!_ ”

Peter and MJ hiss in unison for Ned to shut up.

“I’m sorry, but,” Ned continues in a quieter voice, though not with less excitement, “you’re living with Iron Man? That is the coolest thing ever! I wish I could live with him!”

“I’m sure, considering the circumstances, Peter doesn’t find it as thrilling,” MJ counters with a cold glare.

Peter smiles a little at her. “No, yeah, I mean, it’s- hard. But I guess it is pretty cool.”

“What really matters is if you’re happy there.”

Peter is quick to assure her. “I am. Mr. Stark has been great. He, ah, I called him from the hospital, and he was there right away. He’s been helping a lot.”

“That’s good.” MJ shoots him a kind smile.

“Yeah. He’s also helping with the, um, with the funeral. Planning it and everything.” Peter lets out a slow breath. “Honestly, this is pretty much the first time he hasn’t been with me since Saturday.” It’s a little embarrassing to admit that, but by the looks on Ned and MJ’s faces, they aren’t judging. They actually look a little relieved.

“I’ll tell Mr. Harris that you won’t be at decathlon practices this week,” MJ hums before returning to eating her apple. Peter smiles thankfully at her.

He finally relaxes and feels like he can breathe.

 

That night brings more nightmares. Peter scrambles to his feet and staggers away from the bed the moment that he’s awake; his clothes are damp with sweat as his breaths come ragged and harsh. He hadn’t cried out, so Tony hadn’t been alerted, and Peter prefers it stay that way for now. A glance at his phone tells him that it’s a little after 3 am. He peels off his shirt and pants to trade them for some clothes that Tony had placed in his bedroom “just in case, until we get the rest of your stuff” then slips out of his bedroom as quietly as possible. The air has become too hot and stuffy to stay in there.

Peter tiptoes his way down the hallway and into the common area. He stops at the kitchen to grab a glass of water, and then he’s collapsing onto the couch cushions with a soft groan. For a while, he just gazes up at the pattern of the panels on the ceiling, and he traces them with his eyes until he’s hypnotized. Outside the window, Manhattan is alive and well, and Peter can distantly hear the sounds of the city below.

It eventually lulls him back to sleep, and he doesn’t stir again until he feels a light touch to his forehead some hours later.

Peter screws his face up in displeasure at being woken up, and the hand retreats. He blinks his eyes open to see Tony just sitting down on the other side of the coffee table, Stark Industries mug in hand. He’s already dressed, and in the early morning light coming in behind him, Peter can see that Tony’s hair is still damp from his shower. The scent of freshly applied cologne and aftershave drifts towards Peter.

“Sleep well?” Tony hums by way of greeting.

Peter makes a tired sound that is in fact very dignified, thank-you-very-much, and rolls onto his side as he tugs the blanket closer around himself.

Wait. Blanket?

Peter props himself up on an elbow to look down in surprise at the throw blanket draped over himself. His gaze slides to Tony, along with a questioning eyebrow. Tony just looks amused and takes a sip of his coffee.

“I found you out here around 5. You were shivering a bit, so I gave you that. You snuggled right up under it. God, I wish I had video- Wait, FRI-?”

“No, no, we don’t need to see it,” Peter cuts him off quickly as he moves to sit up all the way. His voice is rough from sleep, but he’s smiling a little, despite himself. He yawns widely and rubs at an eye. “What time is it now?”

“6:30. You should get ready for school soon.”

Peter makes a face and looks to the side.

Tony frowns. “What?”

“Just- school,” Peter explains lamely.

“Well, Ferris, you’re not playing hooky.”

“But, I- I wouldn’t be. I’d just be, you know, taking a break. One day.”

“Kid, you have to go to school. You’re not sitting on this couch all day.”

“But I was thinking, maybe we could do something else? It’s just that I feel bad borrowing from you,” Peter tugs at the shirt he’s wearing for emphasis, “and I’m going to need clothes for- for Saturday, and there’s other stuff I still need that I didn’t grab, and I don’t know what other time we’ll be able to go other than during the day, since it’ll take a while to go through everything, so-”

“Wait.” Tony holds up a hand. “You’re saying you want to go to the apartment? Today?”

Peter blinks. He supposes he is. “Yes.”

Tony studies him for a long pause. He looks ready to argue further, but then he deflates and sets his mug down on the table. “Okay.” His voice is soft and low. “But you go back to school tomorrow.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of a shorter chapter, but some important stuff going on. 
> 
> And hey, thanks.

It’s hard work. Probably – no, definitely – harder than going to school would have been, but Peter still doesn’t regret his decision, because if they hadn’t done it today, it would just have to be another day.

Happy and Bruce go with them, to make things faster. Tony and Peter stand waiting in the garage for the two of them, and as soon as Bruce Banner steps out of the elevator, Peter’s eyes get blown wide, and his stammer surfaces with a vengeance. Bruce smiles in a combination of shy embarrassment and flattery at Peter’s awed words of praise, while Tony glowers.

“Did you seriously just call him ‘the greatest scientist of his generation’ while I’m standing right here?”

Bruce and Happy are put on box and furniture moving duty, and they spend the day grunting their way up and down the four flights of stairs together. Tony jokes that if the big green guy wants to pop out to help, they’d be done in five minutes, but Bruce just sends him a good-natured glare and says that it’s because there wouldn’t be any furniture left to move.

The furniture is being taken to be stored at the tower because no one is going to face Peter with the idea of selling any of May’s things just yet. All of Peter’s stuff is to be packed and taken back with him. Peter has to sort through May’s belongings to see what’s there.

Peter gets all of his own things packed away first, and he lets Tony help when the man offers. When they’re done, Peter takes a second to look around his now bare and empty room, and the hollow sadness bores its way back into his chest. He’s pulled out of it by Tony’s hand landing on his back, and they move on to May’s room.

Peter loses himself the moment he’s through the doorway and looking at the place where he had held May in his arms as she bled invisibly. He kneels on the floor, and Tony wraps his arms around him as he just lets him cry against his chest, only offering quiet reassurances and saying that he needs to get it out.

Peter’s numb after that. He finds her jewelry, and he doesn’t have any use for it, but he keeps it. Her clothes are folded with reverence. At one point, Peter holds up a dress that May had worn to dinner for his birthday the previous year. He asks Tony what he thinks, and the man nods his approval. They both know what the question implies. It gets packed separately.

May had kept every gift that Peter had ever given her. Every card. Every drawing. Tony seems particularly fond of a crayon drawing that Peter had made of himself and May holding hands, and Peter’s cheeks burn in embarrassment while his heart feels warm and aches at the same time.

They’re finished by 4 pm; it takes less than 8 hours to remove every last bit of evidence from the apartment of Peter’s and May’s life there together. It makes Peter’s chest ache to stand in the empty living room, so he doesn’t stall there, even when Tony says that he can take a moment to say goodbye. He can’t do it.

 

Back at the tower, Tony and Peter get to work bringing everything of Peter’s up into the penthouse, and Bruce and Happy leave them to once again do the heavy lifting and get the furniture into the tower. Now, though, they have Tony’s robots to help them, and the two groups finish at the same time. Happy returns to his duties, Bruce retreats to his floor, and Tony joins Peter in sorting his stuff in his bedroom.

They just finish getting Peter’s clothes into the dresser when FRIDAY speaks up. “Boss. Steve Rogers, James Buchanan Barnes, and Natasha Romanoff are coming up in the elevator.”

Peter’s eyes widen in surprise while Tony just looks pissed. He steps back from the dresser and towards the door. “What the hell do they want?”

“Unclear, Boss.”

“Shit, alright. Peter, you can stay here if you want and keep unpacking.” Peter opens his mouth to reply, but Tony is already gone through the doorway.

Peter lingers in his bedroom for a minute as he starts picking through the box of stuff that had been on his desk, but ultimately the combination of curiosity and unwillingness to be left alone and distraction-less with his thoughts wins out. He slips quietly from the bedroom and down the hallway until he can hear the conversation drifting up from the common area. He reaches the end of the hallway and looks out at where Tony is standing in the foyer with his surprise guests.

“I haven’t heard from you all weekend,” Steve is saying in a firm voice. “I just wanted to check in.”

“You came to spy on me,” Tony counters.

“You got something to hide?” Peter sees Steve raise an eyebrow.

“No, _Captain_ , I’ve just been busy.”

“Care to explain?”

“Not particularly. What are these two doing with you?” Tony glowers at Bucky and Natasha, who flank Steve on either side.

“Bucky’s my friend,” Steve answers evenly.

“And I wanted to say hi to Bruce afterwards.” Natasha lifts her chin a little.

Steve returns to the subject. “What have you been so preoccupied with, Stark, that you completely go dark for four days?”

“Is that it?” Natasha has spotted Peter and is looking straight at him where he hovers uncertainly at the top of the stairs. The four turn to look at Peter, who raises a hand in a shy wave. Steve looks back at Tony as Peter starts hurrying down to meet them.

“Who’s that and what’s he doing here?” Steve’s arms fold across his chest. Peter stops by Tony’s left shoulder and smiles awkwardly.

"Sorry, I'm Peter. You might remember me as Spider-Man, f-from when we met before."

Steve just stares at Peter for a moment before he seems to realize what he's talking about and looks slightly uncomfortable at the memory of the battle in Germany. Peter quickly backtracks.

"No hard feelings, right, Captain Rogers?"

Steve smiles, though it seems forced. "Steve. And no. Course not." He accepts the hand that Peter has extended in his nervousness. "You come to the tower often, Peter?"

Peter glances at Tony anxiously and nods. "Uh. Yeah. I've been, ah, s-sort of- staying here? I don't know how long-"

"Peter's going to be living here for the foreseeable future," Tony interrupts confidently. "It's not a problem."

Steve raises an eyebrow. "Why's that?"

Instead of answering, Tony turns to Peter and places his fingertips on his arm. "Are you hungry? You haven't eaten all day, and you've been working hard. Why don't you go get yourself some water at least?"

Tony nods his head in the direction of the kitchen, and Peter stammers an "okay" before backing away, his gaze still flickering between the other Avengers. He can still hear them clearly, of course, on account of his super hearing as he goes to loot through the fridge.

"Tony." Steve's voice is firm. "What do you mean, working hard? Have you been running missions with this kid and failing to report them?"

"No." Tony sounds exasperated. He steps closer to Steve. "Look. His aunt died on Saturday, and he came to me for help. He doesn't have anywhere else to go. He's been staying here, and we moved everything out of his old apartment today."

"There are laws-"

"Oh, I've also been granted temporary custody. Not a problem."

"How temporary is temporary, Stark?"

Tony makes a face. "It doesn't matter yet. He's not going anywhere at least for a while, though."

"Well, I'm hurt that you hid him from us," Natasha suddenly speaks up. They all turn to look at her stoic expression, but a moment later she lets it melt into a smirk as she starts walking to follow where Peter had gone and is now very poorly pretending not to be listening as he picks at a bag of grapes. "You know I love kids."

She reaches Peter and smiles at his wide eyes, then ruffles his hair lightly. "Gonna share?" she hums even as she steals a handful of grapes from him. Peter blinks and manages a small smile. "I'm Nat," she adds when Peter's mouth still fails to work to form words.

"P-Peter," he repeats.

"Peter. Good to meet you. Have you met Bucky?" She gestures offhandedly over her shoulder, where the super soldier is approaching.

"Uh. Not really. It's nice to meet you, sir."

Bucky smiles. "No need to be formal with me. You're living with Stark; that makes you family in my book."

That brings a grin to Peter’s face and immediately drops all his defenses, and he holds the grapes out towards Bucky, who accepts a few.

“Who else haven’t you met?” Natasha asks as she leans onto the counter. It feels like all of her attention is focused on Peter as she talks to him, and it simultaneously makes him feel self-conscious and cared for.

“Well, basically everybody? I mean, I know Mr. Stark. And Captain Rogers and I sort of met. I’ve talked with Dr. Banner a few times. But- that’s about it.”

Bucky hums. “You should see the others. Maybe swing by the compound sometime?”

“Or, even better, we should come back here.” Natasha turns to grin wickedly back at Tony, who is glowering up at the two of them from his place still beside Steve.

“Yeah. Party at Stark’s!”

“You do know how that turned out last time,” Tony reminds Bucky with a furrowed brow.

“This’ll be different,” Natasha assures coolly. “Peter should meet the team.”

“They have a point.” Steve levels Tony with his best Captain America gaze, and Tony huffs as he realizes that he’s lost the battle in his own home. He straightens his posture and quirks his mouth as he looks between his guests.

“Alright. How about next Friday? Dinner and drinks. Everyone’s invited.”

Bucky and Natasha share shit-eating grins, and Natasha winks at Peter.

“Perfect,” Steve states. “We’ll see you then. Bucky? Romanoff? Let’s let them get back to their evening now.”

Natasha lightly clips Peter’s shoulder with her fist as she retreats. She and Bucky rejoin Steve, and the three of them waste no time in heading back to the elevator.

As soon as they’re gone, Tony releases a long-suffering sigh. “Fantastic. Now I’ll have to cook.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's where I'm taking liberties with the events following CACW. Everyone's free, whether they were pardoned or whatever, and chilling at the compound or around the New England. Tensions, of course, are still high. I've also kept Stark Tower because logistically it works so Peter can keep going to Midtown (and I have a soft spot for the tower)
> 
> Also Bucky and Nat being friends? Yes please.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response that this fic has received in just one week is incredible, and all of your amazing comments really keep me motivated on this ❤ Thank you to all of my readers and everyone who comments, subs, bookmarks, and leaves their kudos.

When Peter gets home from school on Wednesday, the top floor of the tower is quiet. Peter asks FRIDAY where Tony is, and she tells him that he has been in meetings throughout the tower all afternoon but is expected to be done in the next few hours. She asks if he would like her to relay a message, but Peter says no, not to bother him. He thanks her and heads over to the seating area by the fireplace, where he drops his backpack to the floor and collapses onto the couch.

His stomach is gnawing at him a bit – definitely because he elected not to eat anything at lunch that day – but he can't bring himself to stand up again to walk to the kitchen. The silence of the room is crushing. He eyes the tv remote, just feet away on the coffee table, but then decides against that, too. The grey fog is snaking its way back around his heart, so he pushes himself up onto his elbows.

"FRIDAY?"

"Yes, Peter?"

"Is Dr. Banner around?"

"Dr. Banner is currently in his lab."

"Oh. Is he working on something?"

"He appears to simply be reading."

Peter hesitates. He considers going down there himself, but walking sounds impossible. He nibbles his lip. "Could- could you ask him to come up here? Tell him it's not important, and he doesn't have to. I just- could use some company."

"Right away." There's a minute's silence as Peter sits up properly, and then FRIDAY's voice returns. "Dr. Banner is on his way up in the elevator."

Peter closes his eyes. He and Bruce aren't exactly close; in fact, before the man had helped him move out of the apartment, the two had never even met, and anytime he had seen him that day it was in the company of Tony or Happy. But Bruce, despite his alter ego, has a calm and quiet demeanor. Peter could use his soft-spoken presence.

The elevator dings, and Peter opens his eyes but doesn't turn to greet Bruce. He hears him step hesitantly into the penthouse, and Peter knows that he's trying to assess the situation and figure out why Peter has called him up here instead of Tony. But then his strides gain a bit of confidence, and then Bruce is rounding the couch to stand next to the coffee table. "Hey, Peter. Did you need something?"

Peter feels like a deer caught in the headlights once he's actually looking into Bruce's perpetually sad eyes. He wants badly to just say that nope, this was a mistake, he doesn't need anything, everything is fine, he can go back down to his lab and forget about this whole thing. But Bruce has already latched onto that wide-eyed gaze and is moving to sit on the other end of the couch. Peter lowers his head.

"Are you okay?" Bruce tries again. "Want to talk?"

There's just something about a person saying those three words "are you okay" that instantly crumble any barriers and leave him winded. This time, though, he manages to hold on and draws in a steadying breath.

"Mr. Stark said you were working on an experiment," Peter quickly says instead. He looks over at Bruce's face without quite lifting his head yet. "I just- I was wondering what that was about."

Bruce looks surprised, but after a second, he clears his throat and adjusts his posture to lean into the couch more, his body still angled towards Peter. "Uh. Yeah. I can tell you about it."

It's nothing groundbreaking. It's peer review. He's copying the experiments of some scientists in Switzerland who claim to have synthesized a few compounds for the first time. If anything, the work is just to keep his mind occupied and to pass the time, but he describes all of the details to Peter with the same attention as if he were talking about his own gamma ray research. It has the desired effect, though, since the more Peter listens to Bruce's relaxed voice, the more his own tension rolls away. Soon he's mirroring Bruce's posture and turns to face him, and not long after, he has his head laying on the back of the couch and even starts to ask a few questions, which Bruce happily answers.

"You know, you should just come down to the lab sometime and see it for yourself. You're a smart kid, maybe you could even help me out with some of this stuff."

That brings a smile to Peter's face. "Really? That would be awesome, Dr. Banner. Thanks."

Bruce’s eyes are warm. “Anytime.” The way he says it holds a heavier weight than if he were just referring to the lab invitation. Peter looks down shyly. At that moment, Peter’s stomach decides to loudly remind them of its presence and current state of being, and Peter blushes while Bruce chuckles. “Hungry? Come on, let’s see what Tony’s got lying around here for you to eat.”

Bruce stands and heads purposefully towards the kitchen, and after some hesitation, Peter follows. He’s not sure his appetite is quite caught up with his stomach, yet, but he can’t just tell Bruce that he doesn’t feel like eating when his body is obviously hungry. They end up making tacos together, and the image of Bruce Banner bent over a stove with his sleeves rolled up pulls the smile back to Peter’s lips. It turns to a full laugh when they sit to eat, and Bruce’s first taco falls apart all over his plate.

Tony comes home halfway through the meal, and he falters at the sight of Bruce, his eyes immediately sliding to Peter. He’s clearly wondering what would have caused Peter to call him there, but once Tony sees the relaxed smile on Peter’s lips – the one that’s been coming so rarely this week – he lets it go and joins them at the table.

 

Thursday and Friday are uneventful, and they would have later bled together in Peter’s memory were it not for the grand crescendo of grief and anxiety that escalate throughout the two days and make each moment distinct. He goes to school. He suffers through his classes and avoids eye contact with anyone who isn’t Ned or MJ. His teachers thankfully respect his obvious barriers and don’t call on him. He manages to eat at lunch, though it’s perhaps still less than he would have been eating last week.

He takes the train and walks back to the tower, and when he gets there, he shuts himself in his room for a few hours and just lays on his bed with his laptop, not doing much of anything. He leaves when the scent of the dinner Tony is preparing drifts underneath the door, and the two talk idly about unimportant things while they eat. Peter returns to his room to finish his homework.

On Thursday, he doesn’t come out until the next morning. Friday, he shuffles out to where Tony is sitting watching the news and invites himself to curl right up next to him and settle his head on his shoulder. Neither of them says anything about it.

When he leaves Tony to go to bed (at Tony’s request), Peter doesn’t sleep. He tries for a few hours, just tossing and turning in his bed, but his mind won’t shut up and the hole in his chest is growing larger and larger. It wants blood. Eventually, Peter slams his fist into his pillow with a frustrated grunt. He lurches from the bed and leaves his bedroom to head back towards the common area, where he blinks in sleepy surprise at the lights that are still turned on at a low level.

Tony is now sitting cross-legged on the floor at the coffee table, which is covered in various mechanical parts. Peter can’t tell what exactly he’s working on as he approaches, but he assumes that it’s something for his Iron Man armor. It appears that Tony had also attempted to sleep before ending up here, or he had at least considered it, since he’s wearing a black undershirt and pajama pants. There’s an empty glass beside him, and Peter assumes that it had been some of his favorite scotch.

Peter lays down silently on the couch across from Tony and curls up on his side, a pillow hugged under his head. He watches Tony’s hands as they tighten a screw, and he finds the repetitive motion hypnotizing and soothing. Tony looks up at Peter, his expression unreadable as he studies Peter’s face. After a few seconds, he sighs and returns his attention to what he’s doing.

“It’s the right leg of one of the suits,” Tony breaks the silence. His voice is low and quiet. “The knee joint was locking up a bit, so,” he furrows his brow and casts his eyes along the coffee table, “I took the whole thing apart.”

“The natural course of action,” Peter mumbles into his pillow.

Tony smirks. “Trouble sleeping?” he asks lightly.

Peter hums and shifts on the couch. “Couldn’t fall asleep. Can I just stay out here with you?”

Tony nods without lifting his eyes from his work. “Of course, bud.” He switches out screwdrivers. “Anything on your mind?” He meets Peter’s eyes briefly, but Peter makes a negative noise and scrunches his nose. Of course there’s something on his mind, and they both know what it is, but Peter doesn’t feel like talking about it.

“Could you just- like- walk me through what you’re doing?” A distraction sounds good. Listening to Tony continue speaking in that soft voice he’s using right now sounds perfect.

And Tony does just that without hesitation; he launches into a description of the repairs he’s making, as well as plans for a future mark to prevent similar problems in the future. Peter loses track of time. His eyelids droop as he completely relaxes and his mind stops whirring anxiously, and he supposes that’s almost as good as falling asleep. He blinks a few times when Tony stops talking and stretches his neck.

“Well.” Tony sets his tools down and clasps his hands together. “It’s late. I suppose we should both at least try to sleep tonight. What do you say, kiddo?”

Peter wants to say that they’ve both already tried and very clearly failed at sleeping, so why not stay out here all night and herald in the dawn over Manhattan through that wide window behind him, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he lifts his head and tries to ignore the feeling of the imprints that the texture of the throw pillow has left on his cheek. The fond smile tugging at Tony’s lips tells him that it doesn’t go unnoticed. “I- I don’t know if I’ll be able to, Mr. Stark.”

“You’re going to start overthinking again the moment you’re alone, huh?” Tony’s tone is the farthest thing possible from being judgmental. He’s pushing himself to his feet. “Don’t be alone, then. Come stay in my room.”

Peter’s eyes widen. “I- I’m not five years old. I don’t have to-”

“Nope.” Tony cuts him off as he walks around the table to stand by Peter’s feet. He motions with his hands for him to get up. “Come on. You need to go to bed, and so do I, so don’t fight me too long on this, kid.”

Peter lets out a resigned breath and gets up slowly. Tony’s hand settles on Peter’s back, and he guides the two of them back up the stairs, calling for FRIDAY to shut the lights off as they leave. Once they’re in the hallway, Peter debates going back to his own bed – after all, he knows that Tony won’t actually make him stay with him – but having the company sounds really nice still.

He doesn’t protest when Tony tells him to make himself comfortable. He just crawls in on the far side of the bed and rolls back onto his side, facing where Tony climbs in a moment later. “FRIDAY, lights,” Tony mumbles. They’re slowly cast into darkness. Tony lets out a slow breath; his eyes have already slipped shut. “Just try to get some rest, Peter. Everything’s okay.”

Peter knows that Tony tries to stay awake so that Peter isn’t alone, and he doesn’t feel bad when his breathing finally slows as he drifts off. Peter’s glad it happens, because as much as Tony likes to hide it, Peter is very aware of how rare a decent rest is for him. Peter finds himself stealing a glance at Tony while he sleeps, and he smiles slightly at the peaceful expression that smooths the muscles in his face. The warm feeling grows when he notices that he had fallen asleep with one hand reaching into the space between himself and Peter.

Though Peter’s mind never does completely shut down that night, he is able to relax enough to drift somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. He feels safe. Cared for. It’s something, at least.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, those comments on the last chapter ?? I don't even know what to say, they were all just so thoughtful and nice and I'm smiling. Just THANK YOU, to all of you reading. I'm really glad I can give you guys something you enjoy so much, and I hope I don't disappoint on this. 
> 
> The funeral, part 1.

They’re the first ones at the funeral home in the morning. Peter is dressed in the same outfit he had worn to Ben’s funeral, while Tony wears one of his immaculate suits, paired with sunglasses that are tinted a normal, subtle grey. The funeral director meets them in the foyer, and they spend some time going over last-minute details before other people begin to arrive. Peter knows that it’s custom for family to be by the casket to greet guests during the visitation, but Tony assures him that he doesn’t have to, and nobody fights Peter on it when he says that he would rather not.

After about half an hour, people that Peter knows from school and that May had worked with begin arriving, and Peter is still hovering in the room just outside where May lays. He gives each of them the same sad smiles whenever someone comes up to offer their condolences, then watches as they head on past through the doorway. He can’t quite bring himself to go in, so he just walks back and forth between the displays of photos of May. He’s in a lot of them, as is Ben, and his parents. Ghosts now, all of them. The bright, innocent smiles in each image hurt his heart.

He’s lost track of Tony. Peter supposes that he’s taking care of things that Peter would otherwise be responsible for without him. He thinks not for the first time how much he owes Tony for all he’s done in this past week.

Ned arrives, flanked by his parents, and he crushes Peter in a hug as soon as they see each other. Peter comes really close to losing himself at that point, and he has to shut his burning eyes tightly and remind himself how to breathe so he can get past it. Not long after, MJ is there, also with her family, and she strides silently up to Peter and fixes him with that all-knowing gaze of hers. Her hand rests lightly on his shoulder.

“You haven’t been in to see her yet.” Her voice is quiet and even. “You should.”

Peter blinks. “How did you-?”

“You haven’t been crying nearly enough yet.” MJ smiles slightly, and even though it’s following the statement that it is, it’s comforting. She pulls her hand back and moves on, glancing back over her shoulder at Peter expectantly before she disappears through the doorway.

A deep breath that expands Peter’s chest fully. He casts one more look around the displays and the strangers studying his childhood photographs, and then he’s walking into the other room before his mind can fully process the movement and tell him to stop.

The scent of the flowers hits him first – hard, right in the gut. He’s always hated the smell of fresh flowers due to the deep-rooted association with funerals and the memories that stir. Then it’s the sight in front of him. Rows of chairs. People dressed in subdued colors milling about and speaking in hushed tones. Flower arrangements lining the walls. And at the front of the room, right at the center: May. Peter sees now that Tony had picked out a simple casket, just a polished light wood with brass accents. Nothing fancy. A large flower arrangement sits on one end of the casket. The other side is open, and even from here, Peter can see May’s face.

Tony is standing just inside to the left of the doorway, behind the back row of seats. His posture is straight, and he has his hands folded in front of himself. Peter opens his mouth to get his attention, but his voice is trapped somewhere deep in his chest, so instead he approaches him slowly. His gaze returns to the front of the room as he presses into Tony’s side as a way of announcing his presence. He feels Tony stiffen in surprise before he realizes who’s against him, and in the next moment a strong hand is on the small of his back.

“You okay, Peter?”

Peter can’t speak. His chest is constricting horribly, but he draws in a deep breath and nods. His eyes are locked on the casket still.

“Do you want me to go up there with you?”

Peter hesitates for a moment, but then he shakes his head and clears his throat. Miraculously, he finds his voice again. “I- no, that’s okay. I’m just gonna-” Peter gestures vaguely towards the front of the room and looks up at Tony’s face. He’s still wearing his sunglasses, his barrier to the outside world, and it makes Peter offhandedly wonder how many people here have noticed him and are questioning his connection to May.

“Alright. I’ll be right here. Take your time.”

Peter feels numb as he extracts himself from Tony’s side and heads towards the front of the room. MJ and Ned are standing together, and they look up at Peter as he passes, but he doesn’t linger to talk to them. They don’t interrupt him.

There are a few of May’s coworkers standing beside her casket, looking at the largest flower arrangement, which is positioned closest to her head. “Who’s Tony?” one of them asks the others, and Peter cranes his neck around them to see a hand pointing at the card, which bears Tony’s name, written in his own hand. Peter’s breath catches in his throat. The people notice Peter there, and they quickly move on with sad, apologetic smiles, so he can have a moment alone.

Peter takes a few steps forward to stand above May. They’ve put her makeup on the way she usually does it, and her hair falls free around her shoulders. Her hands are folded on her stomach, and she wears her wedding ring. She looks comfortable. At peace. Peter hesitantly reaches out to touch her knuckles with his fingertips, and he swallows as the corners of his eyes burn.

Tucked into the casket by her arm is the drawing that Tony had found. Peter hadn’t realized that he had kept it, and now his and May’s crayon selves stand hand-in-hand, smiling up at him through the frame that Tony had put it in. It provides the last push that the tears need to spill over from Peter’s eyes. He looks back at her face for a moment, though the image is swimming, and he blinks to try to clear it. The flowers from Tony are right behind her head – lilies, roses, orchids.

With a little jolt he suddenly remembers a piece of conversation from Sunday, when they had been planning the funeral and Tony had been talking about his suggestions. _“Can we get types of flowers that bloom in May?”_

It’s too much all at once. The colors of the petals are too vibrant. The scent travels straight down to his gut. He can hear every single hushed conversation going on in the room, can smell all of their colognes and perfumes. The lighting, soft as it is, is way too bright. May is right here beneath his hand, but she’s gone. She’s not going to hold him back.

His breaths are coming too fast, and his heart is pounding. Suddenly desperate, Peter turns to look back over his shoulder to where Tony still stands at the back of the room. They make eye contact, and instantly Tony is crossing the room to be with Peter. The sunglasses get stuffed into a pocket in his jacket.

“You’re alright,” Tony hushes when he gets to Peter’s side, and Peter immediately reaches a hand out to him. Tony catches his forearm, and they lock each other in a tight grip. Peter is gasping. His other hand is still on May, and his fingers are shaking.

“I- I don’t- I can’t do it. I can’t be here.” Peter fixes Tony with terrified eyes that are rapidly filling with tears, and Tony’s posture crumbles at the sight.

“Okay. We can step outside for a minute? Would that help?”

Peter swallows hard before he returns to dragging in short, shallow breaths. Would it help? He doesn’t want to leave May, but he also really doesn’t want to completely freak out in front of all of these people, so he nods shakily. Tony returns the gesture curtly.

“Alright. Come on, kid. It’s okay,” he murmurs as his other hand goes to rest in the middle of Peter’s back and starts to gently urge him away from the casket.

It takes all of Peter’s willpower to pull his hand back from May, but he manages it without incident, and then he’s just blindly following wherever Tony guides him. He’s not really paying attention until suddenly sunlight hits his face, and Peter blinks rapidly to clear his vision. He’s still breathing too harshly. His head is swimming. “Tony,” he groans desperately.

“Sit down,” Tony tells him firmly, and suddenly there’s a bench beneath him. “Here.” Tony’s hands appear in front of him, and they’re holding the sunglasses, which are pushed onto his face. It helps calm his overactive senses instantly. The hands move so that one grips his shoulder while the other lays on his chest, over his racing heart. He leans into them for support. “You’re not going to pass out on me, are you?”

Peter shakes his head, though he does lower it a bit as he continues to gasp. His trembling fingers dig into the edge of the bench. “Don’t think so,” he pants. “Not anymore.”

“Not anymore is progress, right?” Tony’s face comes into view, then, and Peter realizes that he’s crouching in front of him. His eyes look worried. Why does he have to keep worrying him like this? “Let’s focus on that breathing now. Can you slow that down for me?”

Peter shuts his eyes and tries to concentrate on that. He detaches a hand from the bench and reaches it forward to press against the center of Tony’s chest, which he feels hitch a little bit. He assumes it’s because he’s right on top of the scars, but Peter doesn’t let up because now he can mimic Tony’s breathing, and Tony lets it be because it’s helping.

Eventually, Peter’s panicked heart falls into a steady rhythm with Tony’s, and his breaths calm, though the tremor hasn’t abated. A dove coos nearby. After some hesitation, Peter draws his hand from Tony’s chest to wipe over his cheeks, then shakily pulls the sunglasses off his face and sniffs. He frowns at the tears that spot the frames. “I got them wet.”

Tony, who has been observing him patiently, gives a half smile and reaches out for them. “Don’t worry about that, kid.” He trades Peter for some tissues.

Peter sighs. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I keep doing this. It’s stupid.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Peter.”

“No, you don’t get it. I shouldn’t be- I just keep overreacting. There’s no reason to panic like this. It makes me feel weak.” Peter clenches his jaw.

“Peter, look at me.” The sudden shift in Tony’s tone makes Peter do just that. He’s squatting in front of Peter and leveling him with a serious gaze. “I don’t get it? Kid, _I_ get panic attacks. No, no, no, let me finish. It’s been going on for years. The anxiety. The insomnia. The nightmares – oh, yeah, I get those, too. And the panic attacks. They were worse a few years back, but they still happen. Sometimes, just being in the tower here in New York is enough to set one off. You don’t think I’m weak for it, do you?” Peter hastily shakes his head, and Tony smiles sadly. He puts his hand on Peter’s forearm. “You’re not weak, either. These things happen. We’ll get you through it.” He hesitates. “It’s okay to not be okay, sometimes, Peter. Especially in times like this. Don’t beat yourself up for it.”

Peter blinks, and he feels tears there. His mouth forms a shy smile, and he nods. “Okay,” he whispers, voice shaky. A deep breath. “Um.” He bites his lip, and Tony raises his eyebrows expectantly, but then Peter just acts and leans forward to wrap his arms around Tony’s shoulders, burying his face in his shoulder. Tony’s own arms curl protectively around Peter. “Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

“Anytime.”

They sit like that for a minute, while Peter finishes calming down and catching his breath, and then he shifts a little bit against Tony. “Mr. Stark? Would you, ah, sorry, this is weird, but I don’t know if-”

“Just spit it out, kid.” Peter can feel Tony roll his eyes, and he bites his lip to keep from smiling.

“Would you just- Stay close to me today?”

There’s a moment of silence, and Peter starts kicking himself as he thinks that Tony is going to yell at him and call him ridiculous, but then Tony’s hands just smooth down his back. “Of course. Whatever you need.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another massive thank you to everyone! Your comments and kudos mean so much and I'm constantly being blown away by the reception of this story.
> 
> The funeral, part 2.

They go back to the front of the room to stand once more in front of the casket. Peter doesn't hesitate to melt against Tony's chest again, cheek resting on his shoulder as he gazes down at his aunt. Tony wraps his left arm easily around Peter's shoulders, and the two just stand breathing together for a moment.

Then Tony surprises Peter by lifting his right hand into the casket. He lays it gently over May's clasped fingers, and Tony’s chest expands slowly and deeply against Peter's side before he starts speaking, his voice soft but clear.

"You did good with this one." Tony's arm tightens around Peter, but he continues to look down at May's peaceful face. "He's a great kid. You worked hard to make sure he turned out that way. You didn't have to take him in, but you did, because you loved him. Always wanted what was best for him. Kept him safe and did everything you could to make sure he was happy. It wasn't easy, and you sacrificed a lot for Peter, but I know that it was worth it to you. And it all brought him to me, which I will always be grateful for. Thank you."

Here Tony pauses, and Peter takes that moment to turn his head and gaze up at him with wide eyes that are shiny with unshed tears. Where is this coming from? He watches as Tony looks up and away for a moment, not really focusing his gaze on anything, and Peter supposes he is composing himself as he draws in another breath. He never meets Peter's unwavering gaze and just looks back down to May's face. Peter sees the gentleness in his eyes and the way his mouth curls into a sad smile.

"It's my turn now, May." Tony's voice is even quieter now. He strokes his thumb lightly along hers. "You and Ben took care of him after his parents died. And then it was just you, and you did a hell of a fantastic job. And now, I promise you that I will look after him. He will be safe. You can rest easy knowing that."

Peter is shaking again. The tears have escaped and are rolling silently down his cheeks. He is still staring up at Tony's face, and after a few more moments of Tony quietly gazing down at May, he finally turns and meets Peter's eyes, still wearing that same soft expression. And that’s it. A single sob escapes Peter's lips before he breaks into a smile, his heart feeling warm, and Tony's own smile stretches a bit more in response. He moves his hand from May’s to the back of Peter's head, pulling him in for a tight hug.

 

Peter has a seat reserved for him in the front row, so naturally Tony does as well. Peter spends the first part of the service unmoving, his gaze just rotating numbly from his lap, to Tony's knee where it presses comfortingly against his own, to the minister speaking, and finally to May's face before his eyes drop to start the cycle again. Tony has his right arm stretched along the back of Peter's chair, and his hand hangs loosely a few centimeters from his bicep. Peter guesses Tony is only half paying attention to anything being said or the music being played and that most of his attention is directed at himself and watching closely for any signs of distress.

Tony, MJ, Ned, and even Bruce had spent the week repeatedly assuring him that he didn't have to say anything at the service. He isn't obligated to, and no one would think anything of it if he doesn't. But each time they’d brought it up, Peter had shaken his head and said that he wanted to.

So now, Tony's hand is tapping gently against Peter's shoulder to get his attention, and Peter’s gaze slides up to meet Tony's concerned eyes. A glance past him reveals that the minister is watching him patiently but expectantly, and Peter realizes that he has been invited up to the front.

Tony's free hand presses something into Peter's hands - the folded paper with the eulogy he had spent so many hours writing and rewriting on the couch in the penthouse. The tremor is back. When will he ever stop shaking so much?

"Remember you don't have to do this," Tony murmurs. "No one will think differently of it. And if you still want to, you can always cut it short if you need to. I'll be right here."

He finishes with a comforting look and a squeeze to his shoulder, and that’s all the courage Peter needs. He nods once before standing and making his way over to the podium, where the minister briefly grasps his forearm before retreating.

He spends a second shuffling around behind the podium, unsure of whether he wants to continue holding the paper or set it down. He decides that he doesn't want people to see the paper shake and know how unsteady he is, so he grips the sides of the podium instead.

His eyes meet Tony's, then scan briefly across the room. Ned and MJ are seated together towards the middle, and both sets of their parents have settled in the row just behind the two friends. Ned looks about ready to throw up, but MJ is leveling Peter with that cool gaze of hers. There’s something else there, though, that coaxes him into relaxing a bit more. Another deep breath. A glance sideways at May, and he’s ready.

He starts in the natural place: the beginning. “I lost my parents when I was little. It happened while they were away, and I was staying with Aunt May and Uncle Ben. I just remember her coming into the room, and suddenly being in her lap, as she told me. I remember crying, being scared, confused, just asking where they were while May tried to help me understand. But the biggest thing that she kept repeating to me that night was that I wouldn’t be alone. That I would always have her.” He pauses and smiles sadly. “And I did.”

  

He’s coming to the end now. Peter's lip wobbles, and he hears a few scattered sniffles around the room, but he presses on. "She was always there for me, and, now, going forward-”

He draws in a steadying breath and closes his eyes for a second. Vaguely, he imagines Tony shifting in his seat, probably preparing to go to him any second, damn what anyone else there thinks about him interrupting. Peter knows that Tony is aware of how difficult this last part is.

Finally, Peter opens his eyes again, but instead of looking down to read off the paper or even up to meet the crowd of mourners, he turns his head to the left. He speaks directly to May. "It's going to be real hard without you here anymore. I'll miss you every day. You-" He heaves a breath. "You were everything to me. I love you, Aunt May."

He knows he’s expected to go directly back to his seat, but he also knows that no one will stop him, and so his feet carry him back to the side of the casket. His hand melts into the place where Tony's had been the hour before. He stays like that a moment, then straightens and returns to Tony's side.

Tony has his arm open again for Peter to settle back in against him. He squeezes him close as Peter shuts his eyes and focuses on keeping his breathing and heart rate in check. A few tears roll down his nose.

“I’m proud of you, kid,” Tony murmurs just as the next song begins to play, and Peter can’t help the small smile that tugs at his lips.

 

The rest of the service passes with Peter's head resting on Tony's shoulder, utterly not caring anymore what anyone sitting behind him may be thinking about it. Tony is happy to oblige and keeps a firm hand wrapped around Peter's upper arm as he just wants his kid to finally relax.

It’s winding down. The minister stands over May and recites a final prayer, and then the director that Tony and Peter had met with is joining her beside the casket. Peter presses closer into Tony's side as they shift things around her. The flowers above her hidden legs are removed. A pause, to let everyone in the room process, and then the lid is closed. Peter holds on to the image of May's face until it’s hidden from view, gone forever.

Then the tone suddenly shifts, or maybe Peter has just lost track of time briefly. He’s sitting up straight in his chair, Tony's hand now between his shoulder blades. The service is over, and the funeral director is alone at the front of the room. He’s explaining in calm tones how the procession is going to work and what everyone needs to do to join them at the cemetery.

"We'll go in my car," Tony reminds him softly, and the sound of his voice causes Peter to settle more firmly back in the present and to inhale a breath he realizes he hasn't been taking.

"If the pallbearers would come forward now," the funeral director invites with a gesture.

A few seats shuffle in the rows behind them. The man's eyes drift down to meet Peter's, and Tony rubs Peter’s back vigorously, grounding him.

"Come on, bud."

Peter stands with Tony and takes his place at the front of May's casket. He looks down at the over polished wood, picturing her face beneath it.

"Right behind you, kiddo," Tony murmurs from his own position at the middle, and Peter nods without turning around.

Peter doesn't remember being prompted, but he’s lifting May up together with the other men. He isn't sure who else is carrying her along with himself and Tony. People from work, probably. Maybe some of his friends' dads. He doesn't really care as he settles the casket onto his shoulder and begins to slowly walk. With his super strength, physically, the task is easy, but Peter still feels like he’s carrying the whole universe on his back.

They head silently down the steps and to the waiting hearse, and then she’s slid carefully inside. The funeral director is beside Peter again, and he holds the flower arrangement that had been removed earlier. It’s placed back on top of the casket, and the door closes.

Everyone disperses. Peter takes a few steps backwards to stand on the sidewalk and lingers there. He can distantly hear people returning to quiet conversation as they prepare to either head to the cemetery or go home. Car doors open and close. Peter tears his eyes away from the hearse to look to his right, where Tony stands silently observing him. He has his hands folded behind his back. The worry is back in his eyes, but he doesn't approach Peter or say anything, just gives him his space and allows him to take his time.

"You're at the front of the line?" Peter's voice is barely above a whisper when he finally breaks the silence. Tony nods in response.

"Whenever you're ready. They're not going anywhere without you."

Peter just nods. He lets his eyes close and focuses on taking a couple breaths. He can do this. Tony will be with him. After a moment, they open, and wordlessly the two make their way to the car parked a little way down the driveway, behind the hearse.

The drive is slow, and Peter's eyes never move from the hearse in front of them as they crawl along the streets. Tony's radio, which normally would be blasting his favorite classic rock at a level that hurts Peter's ears, is eerily silent. Neither person speaks, and Peter loses track of time until he finds himself once again standing at the side of May's casket, her weight on his shoulder as they ease her out into the sunshine at the cemetery.

A tent has been set up over the familiar site of Uncle Ben's grave, now joined by a second hole at his side. There’s a row of chairs set up underneath it, and after they place May down, someone comes up to Peter and says that he and Tony are welcome to a seat. Peter doesn't want to sit, though, and says that someone else can have it as he goes to stand at the back of the tent. Tony follows and takes his place behind Peter, hands resting lightly on his shoulders. The two chairs remain empty.

The minister is back and is speaking again. Peter can only focus on the sound of a bird singing in a tree nearby and lets his head fall back to rest against Tony's chest. His eyes gaze tiredly up at the roof of the tent and watch as the fabric ripples against a light breeze. He wonders when he will stop feeling so empty.

Peter isn't sure when his eyes had closed, but he’s suddenly aware of Tony tapping his chest to get his attention. “Will you grab those?” Tony asks once Peter’s looking at him, and he looks ahead in confusion to see the funeral director holding a bouquet of roses, two angled in his hand towards Peter, who takes them. Tony plucks his from Peter’s hands and pats his shoulder.

Tony guides Peter towards the line running alongside the casket, as people place their own roses on top of it alongside the arrangement. They’re the last two. Tony goes ahead of Peter and sets his down carefully, then lets his hand rest on the wood a moment longer. His gaze is hard as he looks down at the casket, but then he pats it gently and moves on. Which just leaves Peter, who sets his rose on top of Tony's.

"Bye, Aunt May," he whispers, too low for anyone to hear. He walks around to the headstone and bends to touch it lightly with his fingertips. "Take care of her, Uncle Ben."

Tony has returned to their spot at the back of the tent, and he doesn't protest as Peter stands at his side this time, just places a hand at the small of his back. Peter is grateful for the continued contact throughout the day; he knows that without it he would be completely lost.

It’s far from Peter's first funeral, of course, so he knows what to expect. People start shuffling around the casket, their expressions professionally closed off, and Peter turns to face Tony, who looks ready to say something until Peter shuts his eyes and presses his face into his neck. He's seen caskets lowered into the ground before. He doesn't need to watch again.

Tony does watch, though, his hand moving slowly along Peter's spine and not saying anything as he feels the damp spot on his shirt growing larger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, I cried when I initially wrote this chapter. Sorry.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Those comments. Thank you all SO much for all your thoughtful words, especially to those of you who have been consistently leaving your incredible support after each chapter. All of it means so much to me, and if any of you ever need me to fight a bear off for you or idk just make you a nice quesadilla, just ask. 
> 
> In the meantime, I'll just try to return the kindness with another chapter for you to enjoy.
> 
> We've passed the first week. The funeral is done. We've only just started to scratch the surface, folks.

Peter sleeps all through Sunday morning, and when he finally leaves his room well into the afternoon, Tony takes one look at him before bundling the both of them up on the couch under his biggest, softest blanket with cartons of ice cream and a Disney movie marathon. Peter plops his head down on Tony’s shoulder, secure under the arm Tony stretches across the back of the couch.

Monday at school is pleasantly dull. No tests or surprise quizzes, just notes and calm discussion in each of his classes which allow Peter to sink down in his seat and just absorb. Ned and MJ are a constant, familiar presence, and they don’t push him when he’s still less animated than usual. Better than the week before, but still subdued. He joins them again at decathlon, and MJ, bless her, takes it easy on all of them and is quick to shut Flash up anytime he starts to say anything other than the answer to a question. It’s slow, and easy, and it keeps Peter’s mind quiet until he can go back home.

 

It's raining.

Peter sits at the grand piano next to the wide window as he watches the water roll down the glass. He's been here for about an hour now, when he'd first sat down to watch the dark clouds roll in from the ocean. Now the storm is in full swing, and Peter is enjoying the atmosphere it creates while he toys with the piano.

Peter is just playing chord progressions without any real melody. Just allowing each to resonate sweetly in the air along with the rain before he moves to a different one.

"You planning to play an actual song there, Mozart?" Thunder rumbles in the distance as Tony walks into the common area.

Peter turns his head to look back out at the buildings below as he shifts chords from a major to a minor. "I don't really know that many," he admits. "I'm not very good."

"Well, what are you doing there? You seem to know something, at least." Tony is wiping grease from his hands with a towel, and Peter realizes that he's just come from the garage and has been working on one of his cars.

"They're just chords. We all had to learn the very basics back in elementary school. Then I started playing clarinet in band instead, and now I've completely forgotten everything else about the piano, but this-" He resolves the tense sound to another major chord just as another rumble of thunder reaches their ears. "I remember." Peter looks up to meet Tony's thoughtful gaze. "Do you play?"

The corner of Tony’s mouth gets tugged into a half smile. “My mother taught me.”

Peter blinks at the sudden change in tone and is worried that he’s overstepped a boundary. Tony never talks freely about his parents. He’s about to figure out a way to backtrack, but Tony continues on casually before he can open his mouth.

“I used to play more, when I was younger, but I haven't in years. Don't know why I even keep a piano anymore, really. Never gets any use, and they keep getting crushed one way or another." He hesitates. "But we always had a grand piano, growing up. I guess I'd just feel weird not having one around.”

Peter nods as he listens, then looks back down at the keys and draws out a few more chords. His right hand experiments with a short, sweet melody before he lets it fade again, and Tony smiles fondly.

“If you want to start learning again, you’re welcome to it any time.” Tony waves his hand towards the piano, and Peter gives him a small smile. “I could try to help if you want, too.”

“Yeah? Thanks. I might.”

Tony looks past the instrument, out at the rain running down the windows and making the lights of the city below bleed together. Peter picks at a few high notes. “Is there something on your mind?” Tony asks suddenly, though his voice is gentle.

“What? No.” Peter shakes his head and frowns. “Why?”

“Well, you’re sitting here in the dark watching the rain and playing sad notes on the piano. I think I’m justified in my concern.”

Peter pulls his lip between his teeth and hesitates. “Would Ned be able to come over?”

Whatever Tony had been expecting Peter to say, that obviously hadn’t been it, if the way he blinks and stares at him are anything to go by. Peter quickly elaborates.

“It’s just, we were going to hang out, uh, that day, and have our Lego and movie night, and we never did. And it still hasn’t happened, and now Ned is saying that he doesn’t think I’d be able to come over to his place anytime soon, but we were thinking that maybe he could come over here? We wouldn’t bother you if you’re busy, and Ned’s a good guy and he already knows about everything, so there’s nothing to worry about with that, and-”

Tony is cutting Peter off with a wave of his hand. “Yeah, okay, take a breath. Don’t worry about it. He can come over. Did you have a day in mind?”

Peter ducks his chin. “Um. Tuesday?”

Tony arches his eyebrows. “You mean tomorrow, Tuesday?”

Peter mumbles a yes.

“That’s some pretty short notice, kid,” Tony accuses, but he’s smiling. “Yeah. That’s fine.”

Peter relaxes. “Thanks, Tony.” Peter is looking back at the keys on the piano before he can see the way Tony’s mouth stretches with the lack of formality.

 

Peter is pretty sure that Ned is physically screaming when he texts him later that evening that Tony said he could come over.

All day at school, Ned is actually bouncing with excitement, and he goes on and on about the Lego sets waiting in his locker and asks what kinds of movies Tony has that they can watch, if he’s actually going to get to meet Tony, if any other Avengers might be there, if he’s going to need to go through security to get into the tower, if they’re really just going to hang out in Tony’s penthouse like it’s no big deal.

“Does Mr. Stark have robots all over the house? Like to do the dishes and stuff like that?”

Peter just frowns at him. “You mean a dishwasher?”

Eventually Peter just rolls his eyes and tells him to stop asking so many questions or he’s going to tell Tony that they’ve changed their minds about hanging out today. It’s an empty threat, and Ned just smirks at it, but he does finally chill.

That calm attitude lasts until the moment that Stark Tower comes into view on the walk from the train stop after school. Peter hears Ned gasp beside him, and he just laughs as he remembers his own excitement the first time Tony had invited him here. Happy had driven him, and his face had been glued to the window of the car. He remembers that he hadn’t been able to shut up about it either.

Now, Peter just feels like he’s coming home.

They get inside and head over to the elevator, and Peter punches in the code to allow them access to the penthouse. He figures Ned is too busy drinking in everything around him to pay attention to what the code had been, but even if he had seen it, it wouldn’t really matter since Tony changes it pretty much every week.

Ned looks like he’s either going to hyperventilate or completely forget how to breathe the second they step out of the elevator and into the common area of the penthouse. “You seriously live _here_?”

Peter can’t help but smile at Ned’s excitement as he sets his backpack down on the couch. “Yeah, man, this is it.”

Ned puts his beside Peter’s then goes to stand in the middle of the wide space and turns in a slow circle as he takes it in, mouth hanging open. “I can’t believe I’m in Iron Man’s house. This is insane! Look at that window!” Ned hurries to stand in front of the window overlooking the balcony and the city below. His face is stretched into a huge grin.

Peter follows Ned more calmly and stands a little bit behind him as he does his best not to laugh. A few seconds pass before the sound of a door opening and closing reaches their ears, followed by Tony’s voice and approaching footsteps.

“Hey, kid, you there? Is your friend with you?”

Ned spins so fast that Peter’s sure he’s going to get whiplash, and his eyes are suddenly round with shock. Now Peter does laugh.

“Yeah, Tony, we just got home,” Peter calls back. He gestures for Ned to follow as he moves away from the window to meet Tony, who appears from the hallway that leads to their bedrooms. Tony smiles at the sight of him and continues down the stairs towards them.

“Good to see you again, Ned,” Tony states as he reaches them, and Peter suddenly remembers that he would have seen and recognized him from May’s funeral. He doesn’t think the two had stopped to talk or properly meet, though.

Ned, meanwhile, is clearly trying not to visibly freak out. “Mr. Stark,” he breathes. “Uh, thanks for letting me come over.”

“It’s no problem.” Tony flashes him a smile. “Make yourself at home.”

Ned does just that. They settle down on the floor by the couches, having pushed away the coffee table to make room for the Lego sets that Ned has brought. Tony comes and goes, and each time he appears, Ned doesn’t look any less star-struck. It makes Peter laugh and nudge Legos towards him to recapture his attention.

Tony gives them free reign of the television, and even with a limitless selection of movies and shows at their disposal, they decide on Star Wars together. It takes them until halfway through the second movie to finish their first project, at which point Tony appears, waving his phone and asking what toppings the two of them want on their pizza.

The food arrives twenty minutes later, and Tony sets a box down on the floor beside them then sits on the couch by the coffee table with another.

“So, tell me about yourself, Ned,” Tony hums before sinking his teeth into a slice and kicking his feet up.

Ned stares. “You’re Iron Man,” is what his mind apparently supplies.

Tony rolls his eyes and smiles as he chews while Peter snorts. “I know that. I have a whole arsenal of suits downstairs to show for it. I was asking about you.”

“Oh my god, can I see them?”

“Ned loves robotics and coding,” Peter supplies with a glance at Tony. “We were in robotics club together.”

“And I’m Peter’s guy in the chair.” Ned grins.

Tony nods. “That’s right.” He licks grease off of his thumb then points at Ned. “You’re the one who helped him hack into the suit.”

Ned’s eyes go wide, and Peter knows he’s about to start spewing apologies, but Tony beats him to speaking.

“You really know your stuff. Tell you what, we’ll finish eating, and then we can head down to the lab and I’ll give you the tour.”

Peter ends up having to elbow Ned to get him to breathe again.

 

There’s still half a box left by the time they all head down the stairs together, and in the lab, Tony waves the hand that isn’t holding the pizza to send the lights up in the display cases housing his suits. He sticks his unfinished crust between his teeth to be able to type at a monitor, which brings up schematics and endless streams of code a minute later. Ned, who had been beside Peter and gazing in awe at the Iron Man suits, bounds over to look over Tony’s shoulder.

“Badass,” he approves with a grin. His eyes scan quickly over the wall of text, and then his jaw goes slack. Peter grins proudly, knowing what’s coming next. “Wait. This is the AI code. And the bio monitors. Oh my god. I’m looking at Tony Stark’s AI.”

Tony raises an eyebrow, impressed. “Not bad, kid,” he hums, then glances past him at Peter, who shrugs.

“Ned’s the best.”

“Want to say hi?” Tony’s eyes glint. “Introduce yourself, hon.”

A suit whirrs and lights up, the head lifting, and Ned spins as it steps out of the display. “Hello, Ned,” FRIDAY’s lilting voice echoes in the lab.

Ned’s eyes are wide. “Woah.”

Tony chuckles. “Go check it out.”

Peter gravitates to Tony’s side while Ned doesn’t need to be told twice, and Tony sets his hand on Peter’s shoulder while he finishes his pizza. Ned is rambling, stream of conscious, as he gushes over every single detail and fires questions too quick to be answered.

“You know he’s going to want to sleep here now. Better pull a cot out down here.” Peter smirks at Tony, who swallows and pats Peter’s shoulder.

“He’s welcome any time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of you have been mentioning how real this fic has felt, and honestly that's so nice to hear and is really affirming. This story originally started as a vent piece just for myself, and a lot of it from the hospital to the funeral is based on my own experiences. The morgue scene was almost verbatim what I've experienced, including what the woman said to Peter to prepare him. The funeral was the same.
> 
> Thank you all so much for your continued support on this work ❤


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again I'm floored by all of your kind comments! Thank you to all of you taking the time to read this and then putting so much care into your feedback.
> 
> To Alana, who predicted this in chapter 9, send some of those psychic powers my way.
> 
> Longer chapter because I don’t know how to control myself and I love you all.

“Hey Penis! Not cool of you to have your girlfriend yelling at me at practice.”

Peter shuts his eyes and closes his locker at the voice behind him. “MJ is not my girlfriend, Flash,” he sighs as he zips up his bag. “What are you talking about?”

“Her, telling me to shut up just because you can’t keep your personal problems at home.”

Ignore him.

Shouldering his bag, Peter finally turns and faces Flash, who is gazing at him with a mix of disgust and annoyance. Peter looks away and starts walking, but Flash just follows.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, Parker.”

 “Just leave me alone, man,” Peter shakes his head.

“Why? What are you gonna do? You gonna call your aunt on me?”

Peter’s heart freezes in his chest. His breaths halt. Flash seems to like this reaction and chases it.

“Well? You can’t, can you?”

No.

_She’s gone._

Abdominal aortic aneurysm. The surgeon’s sad eyes as he sits with Peter and tells him the diagnosis. The result. The loss. Why hadn’t he stayed with Peter when he’d called Tony? Had the news been too much for him to bear, as well?

Peter’s back hits the lockers. Has Flash pushed him? Or did he just stumble? Peter’s heart and breathing are suddenly back, and they’re both racing to catch up on the time they lost.

“Listen to me when I’m talking to you.”

Flash’s voice is too loud. There are too many people around him. Why is no one stopping this? He can hear their conversations, every single one. There are so many. Their voices are pounding against his head. A group of girls scream with laugher, and Peter shudders.

“Hey!” Flash’s hand slams down onto the lockers right beside Peter’s head, and that’s it. There’s the panic: cold and harsh and digging its claws into his limbs. He can’t breathe. Is he breathing? Or is he just doing it so fast that he can’t register the action?

“Peter? What are you doing to him?” It’s Ned, and he’s suddenly standing right behind Flash with round, shocked eyes. The same moment that Flash pulls his arm back to face Ned, the bell rings, and Peter’s hands fly to cover his ears. A bomb may as well have gone off. His head is spinning. A hand is on his shoulder that he recognizes to be Ned’s, but Peter hisses at the contact. “Peter?”

“There’s too much,” Peter gasps. His eyes are shut tight. “It’s too loud, too bright.”

“Okay. Okay, let’s go.”

Ned grabs Peter’s arms and drags him away from the lockers, and Peter is too blinded by the pain that the otherwise benign contact is shooting through him to fight against his friend. They head to the bathroom, where Peter extracts himself from Ned’s grip and stumbles across the room to collapse against the far wall. His bag is dropped to the ground, and Peter sinks to the floor to press his back to the wall.

“Peter? What’s wrong?” Ned sounds scared. Peter groans.

“It’s my senses,” he wheezes as he pulls his knees tightly to his chest.

“You mean- like-  your spidey senses? You think there’s danger?”

Peter shakes his head; he’s really trying not to cry now. There’s too much input. After the bite, his senses had been dialed up to eleven. This feels like an easy twenty-five now. It’s painful. He buries his head in his arms on top of his knees.

The door to the bathroom opens, and Peter feels the floor vibrate as halting footsteps enter. “What happened? I saw you guys run in here.” It’s MJ’s voice, soft and hesitant as she cautiously takes in the scene before her. “Flash didn’t hurt him, did he?”

“No!” Ned’s voice is still so _loud._ “He started freaking out, though, and he says his senses are bothering hi-”

“Ned, shut up!” MJ cuts him off with a hiss.

Peter is shrinking farther into himself on the floor in an attempt to escape their voices. The room is plunged into silence, and then MJ’s soft footsteps start again. They’re coming closer. He peeks through his arms just enough to see her kneel down front of Peter, a hand reached out towards him, though she doesn’t dare actually touch him.

She speaks again, and her voice is slow and quiet. It eases some of the tension, but Peter is still breathing far too fast. “Peter? Do you need the nurse?”

Peter shakes his head violently. “I’m fine,” he pants. “I’m not sick.”

The disbelief rolling off of MJ is palpable, and her quirked eyebrow sends radiation into his skin. Ned beats her to her response. “Peter, you’re literally collapsed on the-”

“Too loud, Ned,” MJ cuts him off when Peter flinches. “Either stop talking or go back to class,” she adds from between her teeth. When she continues, her voice is gentle again. “Has this happened before, Peter?”

“Yeah.” Peter takes a few quick breaths and clenches his jaw. He hates himself for the tremor in his shoulders that he knows MJ can see. “Never this bad, though.”

“Is there anything that helps?”

“Tony.” The whispered name is past Peter’s lips before he fully realizes it.

Peter hears fabric shifting and feels the floor vibrate lightly as MJ moves her weight, and he lifts his head enough to blink a watery eye at her. Her expression is a bit impressed, probably because he had sensed her moving towards him before she’d really done anything, but she mostly just looks worried.

“I’m grabbing your phone from your bag,” she murmurs in explanation when his eyes shift nervously to her outstretched hand, “so I can call Tony for you.”

Peter watches as MJ takes the phone out of his backpack with as much care as she can. She unlocks it, because she’s MJ and of course she knows Peter’s password, then finds Tony’s contact and selects it. It starts ringing, and just as she’s about to raise the phone to her ear, Peter asks her to put it on speaker. MJ does so wordlessly, and Peter moans and shudders when the harsh ringing fills the bathroom and echoes off the walls. MJ quickly turns down the volume with a wince just as Tony picks up.

“Hey, kid, what’s up? Aren’t you supposed to be in class?”

Peter can’t help the whimper from the pain that explodes across his head when the tinny sound of Tony’s voice grates against his skull. He can physically feel the sound waves stabbing at his skin.

“Peter?” Tony’s voice is concerned, and MJ hesitantly speaks up, still keeping her voice low.

“Mr. Stark? I’m Peter’s friend, Michelle. I think Peter needs you to come to school.”

“What? Why? What’s going on?” Peter shoves his head between his knees to combat the lightheadedness he’s starting to feel from breathing so rapidly and shallowly and to shield his ears from the noise as much as possible.

“He’s having some sort of panic attack. I think he’s overstimulated, too. His senses are going crazy.”

“Shit. Okay, I’m on my way. Are you with the nurse?”

“Bathroom,” Peter grinds out before MJ can respond. “With Ned and MJ.”                                                                                                                                             

“Alright.” Tony’s voice is suddenly much softer now that he’s addressing Peter. “Pete, have your friends take you to the nurse.” The sound of an engine starting rips through the phone, and Peter gasps and claws at his scalp. It feels like his heart rate doubles, and he’s suddenly aware of the cold sweat on his brow.

“Mr. Stark.” Ned’s voice breaks through, sounding scared, and Peter flinches with the series of footsteps that pound through the floor and up Peter’s spine as his friend approaches.

“It’s okay,” Tony assures hurriedly on the other line, and it’s not clear who he’s specifically addressing. Probably all three of them at once. “Just go to the nurse’s office so that I can meet you there. Can you do that, Peter?”

Peter nods before a small part of his mind reminds him that Tony isn’t actually there, so he adds a breathy “yeah” to his response.

“Good. I’m going to hang up so you can do that. I’ll be there really soon, though, alright? Just breathe, Peter.”

MJ thanks Tony and ends the call, and the phone is returned to Peter’s backpack, which she passes to Ned. Peter feels sick from the sound of the fabric shifting along with his books inside the bag.

“Can you stand up?” MJ’s voice is closer now, but it’s just barely audible. Peter feels infinitely grateful for her in that moment as he nods and lifts his head.

The light is blinding, and it looks like MJ and Ned are glowing goddamn auras, but Peter manages to keep his eyes open. His feet make horrible scraping sounds as he shuffles to get them underneath himself so he can stand, and each movement makes his clothes scratch harshly across his skin. He can feel each individual thread. When he grabs the counter to pull himself to his feet, he has to remind himself not to squeeze too hard and accidentally crack it. He doesn’t need to have to explain that later.

“Do you need help?” MJ is reaching her hands towards him, though she’s not touching him, and Peter knows that her real question is whether it would be too much for his senses. But everything is already too much, so it doesn’t matter, and he gives a tired nod and steps closer to her.

He instantly regrets the decision when her arm latches onto his waist and he leans against her. It’s like fire. He can feel every point of contact as they start walking. Every movement of her own jacket against him. The thrum of her pulse in her fingertips. Each breath she takes as it expands against his own ribs. He grips her shoulder with one hand for support while his other claws at his chest, and the three friends make their way as quickly as possible through the halls.

Peter is nearly passed out by the time they make it to the nurse’s office.

He can hear everything happening inside every classroom they pass. Every teacher’s booming voice. The eruptions of laughter. Pencils scraping. Chalk scratching. Keys tapping on a keyboard. Someone has a restless leg that is vibrating the floor. And then the nurse’s voice – loud and shrill as she asks what’s wrong once MJ guides him through the door to the office. Her chair scrapes across the floor as she stands, and Peter whines and lets go of MJ to clutch his head as his heart tries to fly out of his throat. Her arm tightens around him when he stumbles with the loss of support. He’s dizzy. He feels like he’s going to throw up.

MJ makes a hushing sound and explains in a whisper that he’s having a sensory overload and needs to go home. Bless her. He needs to buy her a pizza or something later.

He’s being guided forward again, and he doesn’t fight. “Have him sit down,” the nurse urges – still too loud, but quieter at least – and MJ’s gentle hands shift to push him back onto what he recognizes as one of the cots. Peter scrambles backwards until his back is pressed against the wall and he can draw his knees up close to his chest. He hides his head behind his arms once more and tries to focus on slowing his breathing. He hears Ned set his backpack down on the ground beside him. The nurse is speaking again.

“Thank you both. I can contact someone to come pick him up.”

“His dad is coming,” Ned says simply, and it makes Peter jerk his head up to look at him in shock.

_His dad?_

Peter wants to protest that wording, but he doesn’t have the energy, and the fluorescent lights are taking jackhammers to the backs of his eyes, so he just buries his head again while the nurse accepts Ned’s statement and tells the two of them to head back to class.

Peter can hear Tony’s car when it pulls into the parking lot some minutes later, and he tracks his footsteps when they enter the school and make their way briskly to the office. “I’m here for Peter Parker.” Tony is there. Peter looks up blearily to see the man walking through the doorway and looking around wildly from behind his yellow-tinted sunglasses. He’s once again in one of his workshop outfits – a black quarter-sleeve and dark jeans with motor oil stains.

Peter doesn’t think he’s ever seen a person look as shocked as the nurse does right now, and if Peter hadn’t been feeling like he’s actively dying from a panic attack, he would laugh. “You? You’re Peter’s guardian?”

“Yes.” Tony looks impatiently over at where Peter is shaking on the cot, and his gaze doesn’t seem to want to return to the nurse, who raises an eyebrow, her mouth still hanging open slightly.

“But- You’re Tony Stark.”

Tony rolls his eyes and looks like he wishes this conversation had ended two days ago. “Yes. While you check your records, I’m going to go take care of my kid.”

And then Tony is in front of him. Somewhere through the haze, Peter registers that Tony has referred to Peter as “his kid”, and Ned had called Tony his dad earlier. It’s all something to think about later, when he’s not breathing through his teeth on a cot in the nurse’s office.

He squats down to be eye level with Peter as the sunglasses leave his face and are discarded onto the other end of the cot. Peter squints back at him as Tony runs his gaze anxiously over his hunched and trembling form. A few more seconds pass while Tony seems to debate the best course of action, but then his expression hardens as he seems to come to a decision.

Tony moves to sit down on the cot directly in front of Peter. “Close your eyes,” he murmurs in the lowest voice Peter has ever heard him use, and he obeys and lets his forehead come to rest back on his arms. “Would touching you help or hurt?”

Peter swallows hard. “I don’t know,” he chokes. Everything else touching him hurts. His clothes are even causing him pain right now. But Tony’s contact has always helped in the past; it’s made him feel safe and grounded. He wants for it to be able to do the same now. “Maybe- help? I can’t-” Peter shudders and curls into himself tighter.

Tony’s hand is there as Peter’s breathing picks up speed. It’s just his fingertips, very lightly on the back of Peter’s clenched fist. Peter heaves a breath that wracks his whole frame, and he flexes his fingers in that hand. It doesn’t hurt. It’s just Tony. He presses back into it just a little.

“Okay, okay,” Tony is hushing him gently, and Peter hears and feels him shift a little closer on the cot. “What about my voice? Helping or hurting?”

“Helping,” Peter immediately answers. It’s noise, so it still hurts, but it’s a reminder that Tony is there with him, and the words are soothing. He doesn’t want it to stop.

“I want to get you home soon, Peter, but let’s get that breathing and your heart rate calmed down a bit first, okay? Follow mine. You know how this goes.”

Peter’s chest splutters as he tries to fall into rhythm with Tony’s exaggerated breathing, and Tony hums an encouragement and gently runs a hand along the back of Peter’s arm. It takes a few minutes, but soon enough Peter can breathe somewhat normally again, and even just being calmer takes the edge off his senses. He feels confident enough to lift his head and blink his eyes open to squint at Tony, who fixes Peter with a gaze of pure concern.

“Better?”

Peter nods tiredly and bites back a wince when the collar of his shirt scratches at his neck. “Yeah.” His voice is hoarse and a little shaky still. “Can we go?”

“Absolutely. Let me sign you out.” The hand disappears as Tony pushes himself to his feet. He heads back over to the nurse’s desk, and she slides a clipboard wordlessly to him. Peter doesn’t miss the way her jaw clenches as she looks up at him, and he feels a little guilty. None of it is her fault. Tony had just been worried and a bit overprotective. Tony signs the form as quietly as he can, and then he’s back at Peter’s side. “Come on, kid.”

Peter gets unsteadily to his feet. He doesn’t turn down the arm that wraps around him and pulls him against Tony’s side, and he just smiles a little when Tony’s sunglasses are pushed onto his face. They’re the ridiculous yellow aviators, but they do dim the light around him a little, so they stay on as the two head out of the school towards Tony’s car.

Peter settles into the front seat, and after his seatbelt is on, he turns and curls up so that he’s facing the driver’s side. His legs are pulled back up to his chest and his eyes fall shut once more. Tony’s door opens and shuts, and the sound makes Peter wince, but then Tony’s hand is on Peter’s shoulder. It moves to pull off the sunglasses, and Peter blinks in confusion just as Tony replaces them with a darker pair that wrap around his face and completely block out the bright light. He thanks him as he settles back down.

The sound of the engine starting makes Peter want to weep, but he composes himself and presses his hands over his ears as a solution. He’s not looking, but he can tell that Tony drives just a little faster than he should be to get them back to the tower.

In the elevator, Peter gets pulled close to Tony’s chest, and Peter burrows his face into Tony’s neck and covers his ears with his hands while his eyes close tightly. Tony’s own hands come up to lay over Peter’s and further block out the noise of the elevator moving. “FRIDAY, lights down,” Tony murmurs. “Keep them off upstairs, too, and don’t let anyone else up into the penthouse.”

When the elevator door opens, the sound digs into the base of Peter’s skull and draws out a low groan. Tony drops his hands from Peter’s ears and starts to guide him through the house. “We’ll get you settled in bed, alright? Stairs are right in front of you, come on.” Peter stumbles his way up them and into the hallway, though he hesitates outside his bedroom door.

“Could I-?” Peter glances across the hall towards Tony’s own closed door shyly, his ears burning, but Tony just nods and moves to open it.

“No problem, kiddo.”

Peter heads straight for the bed and sags down to sit on the edge of it, his head falling into his hands. His senses have calmed down considerably since the attack had first started, but he’s still much more sensitive than usual, and a headache is starting to build in his temples. He hears Tony digging around in his dresser before two different sets of fabric hit the bed beside him. Peter looks over curiously.

“That is the softest shirt and pair of pants that I own,” Tony states by way of explanation. He’s walking back towards the door. “Really. Get changed. I’ll be back.”

The door shuts lightly behind him, and Peter sits for another moment before he forces himself back to his feet. Getting dressed is difficult, and pulling his jeans off feels like dragging razors all the way down his legs, but once he’s in the borrowed t shirt and pajama pants, Peter is immediately hatching a plan to never return them. He lays down and cocoons himself in Tony’s equally silky sheets. A contented sigh leaves his lips as his skin finally seems at peace with the textures and temperature around him.

A few minutes later, there’s a soft knock at the door, and Peter mumbles that it’s okay to come in. Tony reemerges and makes his way back over to the bed to stand over Peter. A glass of water is placed on the nightstand by Peter’s head, but he makes no move to grab it.

“You’re looking more relaxed already,” Tony comments with a hint of a smile.

 Peter just burrows down farther in the blanket with a hum.

“Do you want me to stay, or no?” Tony adds, forehead crinkling a bit. “I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

Peter hesitates, then shifts a little as he looks up at Tony with round eyes. “Could you?”

Tony flashes a fond smile. “Of course. Give me a minute.”

 

They’re both laying down, Tony on top of the blankets, but facing each other. Tony has changed into a pair of sweats and has evidently settled in for the long haul. There’s a few inches of space between them, but they’re close enough that Tony can rest his hand on the arm that Peter frees to lay between them.

“I’m sorry I made you come get me,” Peter breaks the comfortable silence. “And making you deal with this.”

Tony just hums, a negative noise. “I’ve already told you this, kid, it’s fine. You don’t have to be ashamed of anxiety attacks.” Tony smooths his fingers gently down the back of Peter’s arm.

“But, it was more than that, though,” Peter admits hesitantly. “When it started, it- I could see the surgeon. The hospital. It felt like I was back there.” He closes his eyes and shifts to press his forehead into Tony’s chest, where he can feel the ragged scars left behind by the arc reactor beneath Tony’s shirt. His heart beats steadily

“You mean, like a flashback?”

Peter grimaces at the word, but he shrugs one shoulder. “I guess,” he mumbles.

Tony releases a long breath, and it tickles in Peter’s hair. “It’ll get easier,” he murmurs. “Anything you need, I’m here.”

“Thank you,” Peter whispers.

“Go ahead and get some rest.” Tony shifts a bit to get more comfortable. He tugs Peter a little closer.

 

Peter naps for a few hours, and when he wakes up, Tony is still there, sitting up now and with a dimly lit Stark pad in his lap. He’s a little embarrassed by Tony’s concern now that the episode has passed, and he feels a lot better. His senses have returned to their normal level – well, what’s normal now post spider bite.

“Do you feel like doing anything?” Tony asks as he studies Peter’s face.

Peter thinks for a moment before saying that he wants to visit Bruce, that he’d been invited down to the man’s lab a week ago. Tony has FRIDAY see what Bruce is doing and ask if he’d be alright if Peter came down, and she says that Bruce said Peter is absolutely welcome and that he’s in the lab now. Peter doesn’t feel like changing out of the clothes that Tony had lent him, even though they’re big on him, so he goes down to the lab still wearing the black pajama bottoms and faded Led Zeppelin shirt. When Bruce sees him, he smiles at the clothes.

“Tony lend you those?”

Peter ducks his head shyly. “What are you working on?” he deflects with a glance around the tables.

Bruce invites Peter to follow with a nod of his head. “Grab some goggles. I’ll show you.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU AGAIN to everyone reading! Just know that seeing all the hits, kudos, subs, bookmarks, and reading all of your comments bring this huge dorky grin to my face, and I really do take into consideration what you all say and what you want to see. Makes my day every time.
> 
> Also in response to some questions about Pepper: I didn't plan on having her in this and probably won't add her later, though who knows as I'm constantly changing my mind about stuff. When I started writing this I wasn't a huge fan of her and wanted to focus more on Peter and Tony's relationship rather than any with her (although I love her now, she's awesome) (and I've developed so many other relationships in this since first starting so idk) 
> 
> Now IT'S PARTY TIME (and just in time for my graduation weekend so I'll see you guys afterwards ❤)

The very second that Peter enters through the doors of the school, Principal Morita is standing there waiting for him.

Peter blinks at the beckoning finger that quirks at him, but just wordlessly adjust his bag on his shoulder and follows him to his office.

“Eugene has been suspended,” Morita hums as he sits down behind his desk across from Peter. “5 days, and he’ll have detention for the rest of the year.”

Again, Peter can only stare.

“What I need to know from you, Peter, is if a stricter punishment needs to be enforced. Some students have said he was physical, others don’t. They say this has been going on for a long time. We have a zero tolerance policy here.”

Peter feels himself shaking his head as panic starts to worm its way into his gut. “No, it’s not-” Yes, it is, but the thought of him being the reason Flash gets expelled? “It’s fine.”

Morita shoots him a look of pure disbelief. “You don’t have to defend anybody, Peter.”

“I’m not. Really, it wasn’t that bad. There’s just been a lot of- other stuff-” Peter clenches his jaw and looks down as he desperately wishes to be anywhere but right here.

“I know.” Morita sounds gentle. “Peter, if you need to ever talk to anyone, you know there are a lot of people here to support you.”

Peter just nods and doesn’t lift his eyes. He can’t be talking about this right now.

“And you’re sure there’s nothing else you want to tell me about what happened?”

Peter forces himself to meet Morita’s eyes. He hopes he looks even half as calm as he tries to be. “Yeah.”

Morita pats his desk. “Alright. Well, this door is always open to you, Peter. Let me know if there ever is anything else.”

Peter nods and takes his escape. He doesn’t release his breath until he’s halfway down the hall, then spends a little extra time in front of his locker just staring at his books.

It’s fine.

He goes to decathlon after school, and MJ stands talking with Mr. Harris for a minute before she approaches the rest of the group at their table in the library. Her hands immediately disappear into her bag, then come away with a binder, which she plops down in front of a girl who sits texting. She looks up at her, surprised.

“First alternate. Get studying,” MJ prompts as she crosses her arms and lifts her chin. “You’re filling in for Flash from now on.”

Peter looks down at the table and avoids the glance that Ned sends his way.

Everything. Fine.

 

Jazz fills the penthouse as Tony prepares dinner later that night. Peter sits at the kitchen table with his books and papers spread around him, and he mumbles to himself in Spanish as he does his homework. Tony is also talking to himself, though it’s in English, and his mutterings are focused on what he’s going to have to do still to prepare for the party the next evening.

On the table near Peter, where it had been set aside, Tony’s phone pings and lights up. He grabs it, reads the text, and sighs as he types a response. “Romanoff convinced Barton to come tomorrow. Now they can gossip together all night.” Tony shakes his head and sets the phone back down. “That makes ten now. Okay. I can feed ten. It’s one of the smallest parties I’ve ever thrown. No problem.” He rubs his hands down his face and through his hair as a long, slightly ragged breath deflates his lungs.

Peter smiles up at him, a little amused by how seriously Tony is taking this. Tony turns and meets Peter’s eyes as he continues.

“Is ten people a lot for you, though? Are you sure you’re okay with them coming over tomorrow? It’s not a problem if you’d rather not have a bunch of people around. I would gladly deal with an irritated Steve Rogers for the rest of time if you’re not comfortable and would rather cancel.”

Wow, Tony is really projecting tonight. Peter bites his tongue to keep himself from pointing out that it’s clearly Tony who’s the one that’s not okay with the party. “No, I’m fine with it. I’m actually looking forward to it.” He really tries not to smile at the way Tony grimaces at that response. “I’m excited to actually meet everyone.”

Tony doesn’t seem happy that Peter hadn’t asked him to cancel instead, but he just nods and returns to the stove.

“How was school today?”

Peter’s pencil jumps – just a little – on the page before he keeps writing as normally as he can with the wave of adrenaline suddenly coursing through him. “It was fine.”

“Really? Because, and I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I was thinking about yesterday. And maybe a day off after that would have been good. And, you never really told me what exactly happened.” Tony lifts a brow expectantly, but Peter is definitely not going to divulge.

“No, I- It was nothing. Just, everything was a bit too much, I guess.” He lowers his gaze. “But today was fine.”

Tony doesn’t speak for a second. “You’re sure?”

Peter nods. “Yeah.”

Tony taps his wooden spoon on the counter. “That’s good.”

 A few minutes later, a full plate is being lowered onto Peter’s book. He pushes it out of the way at the last second as he looks up with a small smile. Tony’s eyes are warm, but his own smile looks little sad. Concerned.

Peter decides to ignore that.

Fine.

 

When Peter steps out of the elevator and into the penthouse after school on Friday, he is slammed in the face by the scents of food cooking.

“Peter!” Tony calls from the kitchen. “Good, you’re home. Get up here and help me with this.”

Peter sighs and throws his backpack down on the long couch in the entryway, then drags his feet dramatically over to join him. Tony rolls his eyes, and Peter bites back a grin.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, child labor and all that. It’s miserable. But come on; chop, chop. We have guests in less than two hours.”

“Two hours, and you’re cooking now?” Peter raises an eyebrow as he washes his hands in the sink and looks around at the cluttered counters.

“I’m _preparing_ it now,” Tony clarifies. He hands Peter a knife and pushes him over towards a pile of vegetables beside a cutting board. He sets a bowl down next to it as well. “Then, by the time it’s all finished, it’ll be time to eat. Get to work.”

Peter ends up staying in the kitchen and helping Tony until there’s only about 45 minutes left, at which point everything is either in the oven or otherwise finished, and Tony sends Peter away so that the two of them can get ready and Tony can make sure the house is in order and presentable. Peter wonders if this is all Tony has been doing today, but he doesn’t ask.

As Peter is about to head to his bedroom to put his backpack away, Tony makes his way to the bar and starts rummaging around to get things set up, and Peter spots the cases of beer sitting on top of the bar, each branded proudly with a star-spangled “Brewed in America” sticker. Tony notices him looking and smirks.

“Those are to get Cap to relax tonight.”

 

Bruce arrives first, having the shortest travel distance at just a few flights of stairs up, and he joins Tony in the kitchen to help him finish getting everything ready. Tony has FRIDAY start a playlist, and 70s rock plays at a medium volume.

Peter lingers nearby, and he pulls out his phone to open the group chat.

_P: It’s starting._

Ned has obviously been waiting for updates.

_N: DUDE I’M SO JEALOUS. Say hi to the Avengers for me!!_

Peter smiles to himself.

_M: Have fun Peter. Don’t forget about us in your new life._

_P: I would never._

_N: That better have been directed at MJ._

The elevator doors shuffle a bit as they open, and Peter, Tony, and Bruce turn at the noise to see Rhodey step into the common area.

“Hey, Honeybear.” Tony smiles, looking relieved to see his friend as they approach each other. They clasp hands, and Rhodey covers Tony’s with both of his. “Thank you,” Tony adds more quietly.

Rhodey rolls his eyes dramatically. “It’ll be fine, Tones. You worry too much.”

“Come meet the kid,” Tony hums in a lighter voice as he reaches back to beckon Peter closer. Peter bounds over to Tony’s side. “Pete, this is Rhodey.”

“H- hi, Colonel Rhodes,” he stammers nervously.

“Rhodey,” Rhodey corrects gently. “It’s nice to meet you, I’ve been hearing a lot about you from Tony.”

He has?

Rhodey continues. “He really likes bragging about you being Spider-Man and helping him out in the lab.” Rhodey absolutely glows at Tony, who glowers as if he’s just broken a blood oath.

“Oh. I mean, it’s nothing.” Peter smiles shyly. “War Machine is way cooler.”

“No way, man,” Rhodey protests. “I’ve seen you in action, remember. Glad to have you on the team.”

The team? Peter’s eyes are round.

“Don’t give him ideas,” Tony warns. “He’s 15.” Though when Tony looks back at Peter, there’s something more in his eyes, and Peter grins.

Steve, Bucky, Natasha, and Sam all arrive together. Tony and Peter break away to meet them in their approach, though the only person who really needs introducing from them is Sam, who accepts Peter warmly. Steve and Tony are civil as they greet each other, while Bucky and Natasha ambush Peter as if they’re picking back up on a conversation that had left off just a few hours ago. Bucky ruffles Peter’s hair with his metal hand, and Natasha spies Bruce across the room and waves.

Bucky, Natasha, and Sam all move on with Peter, though Steve hangs back with Tony. Peter glances back curiously.

“Thank you for doing this, Tony.” Steve narrows his eyes a bit, though his gaze isn’t hostile.

Tony waves towards the group congregating by the bar. “Go get yourself a drink, Cap. Make yourself at home.”

It’s calm, for a while, as everyone settles into conversation. Peter’s initial nervousness is quickly fading the more he talks and is easily welcomed into the group, and he starts to relax.

And then Clint is there.

“I brought drinks!” Clint announces loudly as he steps out of the elevator, holding up a six pack in one hand and a bottle in the other. “Nat! You, me, Bucky, all doing shots. None for the kid, though- where is he? Uncle Clint is in the house!”

Tony stands with one arm crossed over his chest and his face buried in his other palm as Clint struts towards them.

Wanda and Vision arrive much more calmly, even a little awkwardly. Peter is a bit thrown by Vision’s formal greeting and Wanda’s quiet voice, and he accepts the hands that they both extend to him. He still smiles and says that it’s great to finally meet them.

Clint has gotten a hold of the aux, and an obnoxious beat fills the space while he nods his head and scrolls through his phone. He’s evidently set up to play DJ for the night, and Tony allows it with the promise that he’ll calm it down before dinner. Natasha leans against the counter beside Clint, holding a glass of wine and smirking as she talks to him. Peter decides that he likes him already.

There’s a flash of light and a crackle of thunder outside the wide window, and everyone turns. Thor steps inside the penthouse through the door to the landing deck, swinging his hammer lightly, then looks up to meet everyone’s stares as he shuts it behind himself.

“Sorry, faster than the elevator,” Thor greets them.

Peter can barely contain himself when Thor walks up to him and Tony. Correction – he can’t.

“Mr. Thor. You’re here. You’re- oh my god, I can’t believe you actually came!”

“I’m never one to turn down a celebration. What _are_ we celebrating, Stark?” Thor rounds on Tony expectantly.

“Nothing,” Tony deadpans without looking up. He takes a drink.

“Well, we’ll make it a party anyway!” Thor brushes off, beaming. “Rogers! I’ll take one of those beers you’re having.”

 

They hang out for a bit first, getting drinks and talking, and when they sit to eat, Peter settles between Tony and Bruce, with Natasha and Clint across from him. There’s lots of jokes and laughing as food gets passed around, and evidently it’s decided that the best way for Peter to get to know everyone is to share stories at each other’s expense as it quickly turns to a competition of who can embarrass someone the most in front of Peter. Rhodey and Bruce both team up on Tony with stories from college and mishaps in the lab, and Tony glares.

“Wait, Tones, was this sophomore or junior year?” Rhodey waves a hand. “Doesn’t matter. Anyway, so there Tony is. His shirt is still on fire on the floor, the mice are running free around the lab tables on the other side of the room, and the dean is about ten steps away outside the door. So Tony, in a stroke of genius, grabs the bottle that he _thinks_ is water-”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Tony cuts in while everyone laughs. “You win, and that’s the story of how Dum-E is now permanently on fire-extinguisher duty.” Peter can see that he’s hiding a smile, though.

“Actually, I think we can top that one.” Clint grins at Natasha. “Budapest?”

Natasha smirks. “Budapest.”

 

Eventually, everyone gravitates back towards the greater common area and the bar. Clint grabs his phone again and quickly switches playlists, and Bucky locates the light switches and brings up the accent lights more, simultaneously dimming the main lights a bit to create a better atmosphere. Clint cheers at him, laughing.

Natasha makes herself at home behind the bar, mixing everyone’s drinks. She makes Peter a complicated fruit mocktail with a nice sunset ombre while Tony watches her like a hawk, and it’s delicious.

Somehow, after some time, the topic of Spider-Man gets brought up again, and Tony seems more than happy to jump on it and start bragging in a way that makes Peter duck his head in embarrassment. “You know he made that first suit and the web formula himself. That was all him.”

Sam cuts in. “Wait, I thought you made him his suit? But the webs were Peter?”

 “I just built on what he already had. Here, show em, Pete.” Tony digs in the pocket of his jeans before tossing an object Peter’s way, which he catches easily. It’s the web-shooter, now repaired.

Peter looks up at Tony again. “In here? Are you sure?”

Tony nods and gestures at the open space around them, so Peter snaps it onto his wrist. He turns, fires a web towards the table to grab the bread bowl, then yanks it back and catches it. He takes a bite while everyone hums, impressed.

“Now never do that again inside the house.” Tony sips his water.

“I want you on my team,” Clint announces as he raises his glass towards Peter.

“Too late, I called him,” Tony quips. “Besides, don’t birds eat spiders?”

“You know I’m not actually a hawk, right?”

“I don’t know, Tony,” Natasha interrupts. “I think it’s us spiders that have to stick together.” She winks at Peter, who smiles.

 

“Who’s staying for the movie?” Tony holds up the remote as everyone heads towards the couches and the television.

“Would love to, but I can’t,” Clint groans. “I need to get back tonight.”

“I think we’re heading out, too.” Wanda smiles apologetically beside Vision. “Thank you for this, though.”

“Sure thing.” Tony gets comfortable on the couch, and Peter invites himself to join him. Natasha and Bruce sit nearby as well. Rhodey, Sam, and Thor also say their goodbyes and leave.

“We’ll sick around.” Peter looks up to see Steve, along with Bucky.

Tony grins beside him. “Alright, the grandpas are staying up late! What are we watching, Capsicle?” They all settle in.

 

Peter has fallen asleep on the couch. Tony sits so that his body is angled a little bit, and Peter’s head rests on his chest, a position that he’d slowly melted into over the course of the second movie

About fifteen minutes after falling asleep, Peter starts shivering, and Tony puts a hand on his back worriedly.

“Spiders don’t thermoregulate,” Bruce says softly from his chair. He elaborates at Tony’s raised eyebrows. “He got cold in my lab and told me that. His body temperature’s already dropped from falling asleep, so,” Bruce gestures at Peter to finish his statement.

Tony nods and reaches a hand towards Bucky, across from him. “Pass me the blanket,” he tells him quietly, and Bucky grabs the throw blanket draped over the back of the couch and holds it out, but then Tony falters. “Uh, wait, set it down there, yeah, thanks.”

Moving as quietly and slowly as he can so as not to disturb Peter, Tony spreads it over the sleeping boy. Halfway through the motion, Peter hums and shifts, and everyone in the room holds their breath while Tony freezes, his hands still holding the blanket. Peter sighs and curls up closer to Tony, tucking his hands up under the blanket and against Tony’s side.

“Thanks, Dad,” he mumbles, barely audible, but everyone catches it. Then he’s asleep again, unaware of what he’s just said.

Tony’s mouth hangs open in shock. Natasha and Bucky are grinning so wide their faces might split in half – she is so telling Clint about this later, and he’ll drop his jaw and exaggeratedly tap his hearing aid as his eyes glint _“Did I hear you right?”._ Even Steve has a ghost of a fond smile tugging at his lips. Bruce ducks his head to hide his own reaction from Tony because he lives there and doesn’t want to face his wrath.

Tony sends a defensive glare at all of them and just wraps his arms protectively around Peter, pulling him more securely against his chest and telling himself it’s to help Peter warm up faster. He settles down to pointedly continue watching the movie.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response that the last chapter received is overwhelming, wow. Thank you all so much!

Flash is coming back tomorrow, and Peter is not excited about that.

Although, in fact, he isn’t really feeling anything. His alarm chirps him into awareness that morning, but instead of feeling irritated or reluctant to leave his bed, he just feels a bit… empty. Like his mind has completely decided not to accept any input from today, and if Peter’s being honest, he’s okay with that today.

He goes to school, but he’s not really there.

As he walks, his eyes can’t focus on any single object, no matter how hard he tries. Each step he takes pushes him deeper into the fog. He simultaneously feels like he’s floating somewhere to the left of his shoulder as well as like he’s receding into himself without an escape.

In one class they watch a video on YouTube, and there’s an add before it starts. It’s for a brand of razor, and upbeat music plays while a woman unnecessarily shaves an already waxed leg with a razor that’s had the blades taken out. It’s all fake. Nothing about today feels real.

Ned and MJ try talking to him at lunch, but Peter just blinks and offers only short, distracted replies. They try to press him, get him to reconnect and open up, but once it becomes apparent that it’s not going to work, they settle into a conversation between themselves. Peter doesn’t miss the worried glances that keep getting thrown his way, though.

But he doesn’t care. He doesn’t feel anything here. He just tunes them out and floats.

When he gets home to the tower, he shrugs his bag off onto the couch, then stands for a moment, lost, as he’s unsure if he wants to stay out here or go to his room. What does he usually do?

Distantly, Tony’s voice reaches him. “Hey, you’re home early. I thought you had decathlon practice.”

Shit. Yeah, he did. MJ is going to kill him.

“Um. Cancelled,” Peter lies as his eyes finally locate Tony where he stands in the kitchen. He’s rummaging around near the sink. Doing dishes? Getting water? Peter’s not sure, but he doesn’t try very hard to figure it out. Either way, he’s got his back turned and is only half looking over his shoulder at him.

“Oh. Really? Well, it’ll be nice for you to have a break tonight. You have any homework?”

Peter blinks. He’s not sure. He can’t really remember what he did in any of his classes. What day is it even again? “Not really,” he settles on replying in a distracted tone. He’s still standing by the couch, trying to figure out where to carry his body. Maybe he can just continue standing here all night and never have to move again.

“Everything okay?”

The question is almost enough of a surprise to jolt Peter back to his senses, but not quite. He just gets a short stab of panic before it dissipates and leaves him once more in this unyielding fog. He looks up to see that Tony is now standing to face him fully, and his brow is furrowed. Peter takes a second to consider the question. He doesn’t know how to describe himself right now, but he’s certainly not feeling bad. Disconnected, maybe. But there’s no pain here, and he supposes that that’s a good thing.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Peter tries to smile, but he can’t feel his face very well, so he doesn’t think it reaches his eyes.

“Are you sure?” Tony is approaching him now – when did he start moving? “It’s just that normally, you’re already talking my ear off about something Ned said or that you got to play with in chem lab today.”

Peter just shakes his head. Is that the appropriate response? He can’t think. His eyes drift to the window, and he dazedly takes in the skyline stretching beneath them. He only half registers Tony stopping directly in front of him.

“Hey. Look at me for a sec.” Tony’s voice is suddenly much softer and gentle, but Peter manages to notice a cautious edge to it.

The shift in his gaze as it roves across the room is a series of flickering, overlapping afterimages that never quite come into focus before they’re gone. Soon though, his eyes have locked onto Tony’s, which bore into him with an intensity. His own gaze is slipping, though. It keeps coming unfocused or trying to zero in on the wet bar he can see over Tony’s right shoulder. It doesn’t go unnoticed.

 “Did something happen?” Tony switches tactics.

Yes. Peter shakes his head. “No. I just-” He sucks in a breath. Why is he even trying to talk about it? It’s the last thing that he ever wants to do, and he doesn’t know how he would even begin trying to explain this whole past week, but Tony has an eyebrow arched as he waits patiently for Peter to finish his thought.  Peter doesn’t feel his mouth move. “It’s everything.”

Tony just looks at him for a second, his expression unreadable even if Peter were paying enough attention to try to decipher it. “Alright,” he hums, voice low. He draws a breath, and the hand on his shoulder moves to hold his upper arm. “How about we sit?”

Peter blinks as Tony takes a step back, and his hand withdraws, though it remains hovering over him invitingly while Tony watches him, head lowered a bit.

But Peter knows where this will go if he does settle into that couch with Tony. He’ll try to talk to him, and it’ll bring Peter right back into his body. The tears will come at last, and then the truth. He doesn’t want that. He never wants any of that to come back. He shakes his head.

That has Tony frowning now, and his hand drops back to his side as his mouth quirks. “Okay.” A moment of thought, and then Tony straightens. “We’re going to go down to the lab for a bit, and you’re going to help me with some work. Nonnegotiable. Come on.” Though the words are commanding, his tone remains gentle.

Distractions. Yeah, that always helps. Not talking. Not overthinking. Not feeling.

Peter follows Tony down the stairs and to the lab table he points him towards. A piece of Iron Man armor is laid down in front of him, along with a glass of water – where did that come from? – and Tony explains gently how he wants it repaired. It’s a mundane task that Peter has done countless times. He could do it in his sleep.

Except it seems that even in sleep Peter has more focus than he does right now, because he can’t even get started. He just holds a pair of tweezers in one hand and props his chin in his other. Tony sits just across from him as he works on his own part, and he starts speaking quietly. Nothing important. Little descriptions of what he’s doing and what he plans on improving upon. He leaves some statements open-ended, as an invitation for Peter to jump in, but he doesn’t bite. He just watches Tony’s hands as they work.

He knows what trick Tony is trying to play. It’s the same one that school counselors had done after he’d lost his parents, when they’d sat him down with a game until they could distract Peter enough to trick the words out of him. It had felt like a betrayal, even then, and he refuses to play along now.

The minutes slide by. Tony puts on a calm playlist at a low volume, just soft enough that he can still speak over it.

He thinks about May playing music while baking in their apartment in Queens. How that radio is now in a box somewhere at the bottom of his closet in his room upstairs, with her necklaces and rings packed in beside it. He bets there’s still dry flour crusted around some of those gems, and he considers never cleaning them. He misses her dry pastries and the small kitchen fire scares that had always prompted them to go to a restaurant instead.

“Can we get Delmar’s?” Peter’s quiet voice is just barely audible over the soft music when he interrupts, but he knows Tony has been listening and catches it. Peter doesn’t look up from the tangle of circuits he’s been poking at and not actually working on.

“What’s Delmar’s?” Tony asks hesitantly after a pause.

“It’s a deli. In Queens.” Peter glances up at Tony and meets his eyes, though he can’t seem to hold his gaze and looks away again. “It’s been over a month since I’ve been there, and Mr. Delmar, he-” Peter releases a breath. “I think I should see him.”

In his periphery, Peter sees Tony nod and start pushing himself to his feet, and Peter sits up to watch him as he brushes his hands over his jeans.

“I’ll drive you.”

 

“Mr. Parker.” Delmar’s face stretches into a grin as Peter steps through the door Tony holds for him. “Glad to see you here again.”

“You, too, Mr. Delmar.” Peter smiles and heads towards the deli counter. The door shuts behind them.

“Who’d you bring with you? Oh.” Delmar cuts himself, startled, as he looks past Peter’s shoulder to meet Tony’s eyes.

Tony stands next to Peter at the counter and smiles. “Tony Stark. Pete here says you have the best sandwiches in Queens.”

Delmar spreads his hands. “Sure do. Usual for you, Peter? Number 5?”

“Yeah, with pickles, and smush it down flat?”

“Got it. For you, Mr. Stark?”

“A number 3, as is, sounds fine. And I think I’ll look around a bit.” Tony pats Peter’s shoulder before stepping away from the counter, leaving the two of them while the other worker behind the counter gets started on the food.

Peter hears a soft meow to his right and turns to see Delmar’s cat standing there and looking at him. Delmar breathes out slowly and glances towards Tony as he retreats before looking back to Peter.

“I, uh, I heard.” Delmar furrows his brow as he speaks lowly and leans to rest his forearms on the counter. “How’ve you been, Peter?”

Tired. Anxious. Sad. Dissociative. Can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t stop thinking about May.

Peter shrugs and doesn’t look away from the cat as he stretches his head towards Peter’s hand. “Alright.” He scratches between Murph’s ears. “You know. I’ve, um, I’ve been staying with Mr. Stark.” He points offhandedly to where Tony is browsing the chips aisle. “It’s been good.”

“Yeah? It’s good you’ve got someone looking out for you.”

Peter nods. “Yeah.”

Delmar’s fingers tap lightly against the countertop. “You know you can stop in here anytime. I’m here. You and your family mean a lot to me.”

Peter meets Delmar’s serious gaze, and he nods again. “Thanks, I will.”

Delmar extends his hand to pat Peter’s where it rests on the countertop, and then he stands straight again. “¿Y la escuela? ¿Como están las clases? ¿Todavía estás estudiando español?”

Peter manages to smile. “Es aburrida, pero sí, yo sigo, por supuesto.”

Delmar grins. “Your accent is getting better,” he notes. “Keep it up.”

After a few minutes, Tony rejoins them at the counter just as the sandwiches arrive. He drops a few bags of chips and bottled drinks down beside them.

“How much do I owe you?” Tony reaches for his pocket, though Delmar holds up his hands.

“No, no, these are on the house.”

Tony frowns. “I’m a businessman, Delmar. I know you can’t go handing out free subs like that.”

“For this kid? Sure I can.”

Peter ducks his chin in embarrassment, though he still sees Tony’s lips pull into a small smile. Tony turns to Peter. “How about you take these and find us a place to sit?”

“Uh, sure.” Peter grabs the two baskets and starts to step back from the counter. “I’ll see you, Mr. Delmar.”

“Take care, Peter.” Delmar lifts a hand, and Peter turns away.

He expects to hear Tony’s footsteps immediately following, but when he doesn’t, Peter slows and lingers, curious. He catches the sound of a deep breath from Delmar.

“You look after that one, Mr. Stark,” Delmar says quietly.

Without lifting his head to make it obvious he’s listening, Peter looks back at them over his shoulder. Tony nods as he places a few bills down on the counter and tucks his wallet back into his jeans.

“I will.”

 

“It was Flash,” Peter announces quietly, eyes on his lap, the moment that Tony’s door shuts after climbing into the car.

Tony’s fingers freeze on his keys in the ignition. He doesn’t start the engine as he looks at Peter. “Yeah?” he ventures cautiously, voice equally low.

Peter plays with his fingers and doesn’t look up. “Uh. Last week, when you had to come get me.” Peter waves a hand and winces, and he hears Tony shift in his seat to face him fully. “He said some stuff that made me- you know. I didn’t want you to know because I know you were already worried, but- he’s coming back to school tomorrow. Nothing’s going to happen, I don’t think,” Peter quickly adds as he finally looks at Tony’s eyes. “And, like, it’s fine. He got suspension already and detention and he’s kicked from decathlon.”

“It’s not fine,” Tony counters seriously. “Peter, there’s a kid hurting you, and he’s still going to be at that school with you.” Tony’s gaze hardens.

“No, no, please, don’t-” Peter presses his lips together. “He hasn’t actually hurt me. He just says stuff. It’s fine. Really. I don’t want you to- Don’t get him kicked out. It would just make it worse.”

“How is being away from him worse than still seeing him every day?” Tony raises an eyebrow while his mouth tugs into a disbelieving frown. “And it’s a good school that he doesn’t deserve to attend.”

“People would know it was me.” Peter looks away again. “He already got punished, and summer starts soon. Please, just leave it?”

There’s a pause, and then a hand in his hair that makes Peter lift his head back up. Tony gazes at him for a second before speaking more calmly. “You principal called me, of course.”

Peter’s heart freezes. Obviously. Why hadn’t he thought about that?

But Tony is shaking his head as he drops his hand. “He told me what he knew, said you wouldn’t tell him much about it. I was waiting for you to talk to me yourself. Was starting to think you wouldn’t.” Tony pauses. “I want you to be able to talk to me about these things, Peter. I need you to tell me when stuff like this happens, or I feel like I can’t trust that you can handle it.”

Peter wants to be mad at that, wants to feel defensive, but he just looks down again. “I’m sorry.” And he can feel them, finally. The tears. The emotions.

Tony can see it because in the next moment, he’s reaching across the seats to pull Peter against his chest and tuck his head into his shoulder. He rubs his back slowly. “I just care about you, kid. You don’t need to be dealing with things like this.” Peter just shuts his eyes and focuses on drawing a few deep breaths. When he doesn’t speak, Tony continues. “Tell me what happened,” he prompts softly.

Peter’s shoulders shudder with the exhale. He still doesn’t want to, but he knows he needs to. “I don’t know. We were in the hall, and he just made this comment about- about May. And it was too much. I- I just started panicking.” Peter shifts to bring a hand up and rub at his eyes, and Tony adjusts enough to let him, though he doesn’t pull away completely. “He’s not usually- I don’t know why he-” Peter huffs and sets his chin down on Tony’s shoulder. “I don’t think it’ll happen again.”

“It better not.” Tony squeezes Peter protectively. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that. You really shouldn’t have to.”

“Please don’t expel him,” Peter sniffs into Tony’s shirt.

He feels the sigh that tenses Tony’s muscles and gets released slowly into Peter’s hair. “I won’t.” He doesn’t sound very happy about that agreement. “But if he even looks at you funny, you tell me. I’m not having any of it.”

Peter nods a little. “Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation of that conversation:
> 
> “¿Y la escuela? ¿Como están las clases? ¿Todavía estás estudiando español?”  
> -"And school? How are your classes? Are you still studying Spanish?"
> 
> “Es aburrida, pero sí, yo sigo, por supuesto.”  
> -"It's boring, but yes, I continue, of course."
> 
>  
> 
> I'm not super in love with this chapter, it sort of became a conglomerate of a few things I wanted to happen at this point. There's more stuff coming that I'm much more excited about.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay on this, I wanted to get it out to you guys days ago but life got busy and I would rather have something quality to give you late rather than push out chapters fast that I’m not proud of.
> 
> To anyone curious, especially chrissyglikesbooks because of your comment about May the Road Rise Up to Meet You (a very nice song btw): the title of this comes from the song May the Road by Ezra Bell. Fun fact, 90% of the time when I’m writing I just have their whole discography on shuffle.
> 
> Thank you to everyone reading, and thank you for all of your wonderful comments and your continued support on this. (And yes, your requests have been heard and are coming ❤️ keep giving me your input and suggestions) 
> 
> You all mean the world to me.

The following day doesn’t feel too real, either.

Tony meets Peter in the kitchen for breakfast, and after getting him settled with some food, Tony lays a hand on Peter’s shoulder and levels him with a firm gaze. “You’ll tell me if anything happens?” he asks lowly.

Peter just nods and offers a small smile, and Tony squeezes his shoulder.

He finishes eating and getting his stuff together, and before he heads out in the elevator to catch the train, Tony stops him again and assures him that he can call or text anytime, and he’ll answer. He reminds him that he cares about him and just wants to look out for him, and the tension around Peter’s spine melts a little.

 

It turns out that Peter’s wariness isn’t necessary, because just as he’d been hoping, nothing happens.

He sees the back of Flash’s head across the hallway, but Flash doesn’t turn around, and Peter carries himself in the opposite direction.

Peter has calculus with Flash, though he sits on the opposite side of the room. Flash spends the entire period glaring at his notebook and avoiding eye contact with Peter, though it doesn’t matter, because Peter doesn’t look his way either.

Avoidance. The cold shoulder. No confrontation. That’s all he wants today. Peter can deal with that.

 

As the days bleed past each other, Peter can almost start to pretend that none of it ever even happened. Flash seems to slowly loosen up again, and he returns to talking with his own friends in their classes. He doesn’t even look up when Peter enters a room or passes by him in the hall. He’s just another kid at school, and Peter is more than fine with that.

The buzz of prom is in the air, and for the upperclassmen, it’s all they can talk about. At lunch, girls gossip about their dresses and make plans for pictures and dinner as they pass the trio’s table. MJ rolls her eyes and holds her book closer to her face. Ned and Peter share amused looks; they both are very aware of MJ’s opinion on prom.

“We should do something tomorrow night,” Peter speaks up. “You know, since everyone else is gonna be out.”

“You’re succumbing to the herd, Parker,” MJ hums without looking away from the page. “I expected better of you.”

“But it’s also been a while since we all hung out together.”

“I’d be down.” Ned grins, and then his eyes go wide. “Dude, could we go to the tower again?”

Peter shrugs. “Tony said you could come over whenever. I’ll ask though.” He looks across the table and manages to meet the eyes on the other side of the book. “MJ?”

“You want me to visit the permanent shrine to Stark Industries’ past of weapons construction and involvement in every major war of the past century?”

“ _And_ have a fun night of hanging out with us and meeting Tony,” Peter clarifies.

She narrows her eyes. “Sure, I’ll go.”

“And we’re dragging you to prom next year,” Peter adds.

Ned laughs while MJ looks disgusted.

 

Peter’s mood falls just as he’s about to head into the auditorium to meet the rest of the decathlon team. A group of people is passing by, heading in the other direction, and Peter spots Flash in the middle of it. Their eyes meet, until Flash looks past Peter through the door, and his expression morphs into an angry mix of frustration and disappointment as he realizes where Peter’s headed and where he can’t anymore. Peter slips quickly inside and away.

MJ doesn’t take it easy on them, either. The competition is a week away, and there’s no time to waste relaxing or joking around. Rapid fire questions, mock competition rounds. On the math portion, Cindy delivers her answer with a classic “the limit does not exist” but MJ silences everyone and moves them on with an intimidating glare. They’re down to the wire, and it’s exhausting.

 

Peter is thoroughly worn by the time that he gets home. He drops his backpack to the floor and flops down onto the couch in the common area, though he only gets a few minutes of trying to nurse his headache before he hears Tony call his name and approach. Peter squints up at him, wishing that he’d just gone to his room instead of staying out here, as Tony appraises him. He asks how school was and if anything happened. Irritated, Peter just sighs and says no. He can’t keep the frown off his face as he looks away.

Tony latches onto that and moves towards the other end of the couch, and Peter decides that he doesn’t have the energy to fight him and just pulls his legs up to make room as he sits up. He folds his legs under himself and rubs at the bridge of his nose while Tony angles himself to face him.

“You alright?” Tony hums, eyes on the hand and expression worried.

The thought crosses his mind to lie, to stay closed off and not let Tony in. He wants to abruptly change the subject. But it’s been weeks of that trick now, and Peter’s grown weary of it. He just doesn’t have the motivation to pretend and avoid anymore.

Peter drops his arm to his lap and doesn’t lift his head. “Headache,” he admits. “I’m just tired.”

Tony’s brow creases. “Is it bad? Can I do anything?”

Peter glances blankly up at Tony.

From the very moment that Peter had found out about May’s death, every single person has made a point of saying that they want to help. They’ve said that he can go to them for anything. He can talk to them and open up any time. He’s constantly been reminded of this huge support network just waiting for him. Though, the more that it’s been offered, the more scared Peter has felt, and the more he’s wanted to shut them all away.

But why?

It’s not like that’s been helping him or making him feel better. He’s felt the stress of it building, from the nightmares to the anxiety to the current pounding in his temples. He just wants it to go away; he wants to unload again. That brief conversation the day before in Tony’s car had reminded him of how good it feels to have someone know and understand.

Maybe it is time he starts voluntarily reaching out, starting with Tony here.

The only thing is, Peter still can’t hold Tony’s gaze, so they’re going to do this a different way.

Wordlessly, Peter straightens, and instinctively Tony copies the motion, but Peter doesn’t stop there. He scoots closer on the couch, then turns around and lays back so that his back is pressed into Tony’s chest, head settling against his shoulder just under his chin.

Tony tenses and freezes, obviously taken off guard. “Pete-?”

Peter doesn’t say anything, though, and after just a moment’s hesitation, Tony settles down with Peter to get more comfortable and wraps a hand around his upper arm.

Peter ducks his chin and looks straight ahead at the rest of the penthouse. He can feel Tony’s heartbeat and the movement of his chest with each breath pushing back into him. Tony’s free hand carefully lays down just below Peter’s sternum, and Peter moves his hands to start playing with the cuff of Tony’s watch.

And he talks. Unloads. Stream of conscious, about everything. He tells Tony about the lingering guilt, fear, and grief, and how he’s wondering when it will finally start to go away. He tells Tony about May’s belongings that he had kept for himself in his room, but how he can’t bring himself to unpack them now. He can barely even look at the box. He talks about not being able to eat at lunch and how he has yet to make it through a full night without waking up in a panic. He talks about missing May, all the time. He talks about not being able to talk. He apologizes for not telling him any of this sooner.

Tony just gently brushes his fingers through Peter’s hair as he listens, and the motion causes Peter to finally shut his eyes and release his breath. His heart is pounding, and the pain in his head keeps even time. Tony’s hand on Peter’s chest fumbles until it captures Peter’s own and squeezes.

“Thank you for trusting me,” is the first thing that Tony says, voice quiet and rumbling next to Peter’s ear. Peter nods once. “I know it’s hard to talk about all of that, but I’m glad you did. Keeping it in doesn’t do any favors.” He deflates in a slow breath and tugs Peter more securely back into his chest. “You can come to me anytime, anywhere. You have a nightmare, you wake me up, and I’ll help. Bad day, just come vent to me, just like this. You don’t even have to look at me if this worked for you.” Tony pushes Peter’s hair back, then lets his fingers still on Peter’s scalp. He’s right over a pressure point that’s working wonders right now. “I know you miss her, and really there’s nothing for that but time. But I’m here.”

“Thank you,” Peter whispers, the words thick and shaky.

“Anytime.”

 

The next afternoon, Peter meets Ned and MJ at the train station, so he can walk them over. When Peter had asked Tony the night before about them coming over, he’d smiled fondly. “Absolutely. We’ll make a whole night of it.”

Even with that promise hanging in the air, Peter is taken off-guard when they step out of the elevator to see Tony waiting for them as he fixes the sleeves of his shirt and taps at his watch.

“Hey Mr. Stark!” Ned greets excitedly.

MJ just returns Tony’s welcome smile.

“Ned. And you must be MJ. I thought we could all go out to eat.” Tony flashes a grin. “Then when we get back I’ll stop bugging you kids.”

Peter rolls his eyes while Ned and MJ accept the offer.

They end up at an Italian place, in a private area at the back where no one but the wait staff will bother them. The three friends thank Tony shyly for bringing them, but Tony just waves them off. “My treat.” They get their drinks ordered, Tony obliges the young waiter when he asks for a photo, and then returns his full attention to Peter, Ned, and MJ.

“So, Ned, you and I have met,” Tony points at Ned across the table, then directs his attention at MJ. “But I haven’t gotten to talk to you yet. How long have you three been friends?”

“Well, they’ve known each other for years.” MJ indicates Peter and Ned. “I joined in this year.”

“Oh, so this is still new.”

“Yeah, but we’re close,” Ned hums.

“I know everything about these two.” MJ smirks. “I even know about Spidey.”

Tony raises an eyebrow at Peter.

“I didn’t tell her!” Peter defends himself. “She’s just MJ, she figures stuff out like that.”

“It wasn’t hard. You two weren’t exactly subtle back in the fall. Anyone who was paying attention could have seen it.” MJ reaches for her glass. “Although, no one pays attention to anything, really.”

“But I’m more careful now.” Peter presses his lips together. “No one else is gonna find out.”

“Good.” Tony pats Peter’s back, then smiles at Ned and MJ. “But I’m glad you’re both in the know to support him.”

“I would call it damage control more than anything else,” MJ counters coolly.

Tony laughs. “Believe me, I know.”

“Can’t believe you’ve known each other two minutes and are already attacking me.” Peter pouts.

MJ winks at him.

 

He hasn’t been going out as Spider-Man.

Peter stands in the middle of his room. On the bed in front of him is the original duffel bag he had taken from the apartment, and laid out beside it, is the suit. He’s holding the mask with both hands.

He hasn’t been out since that night before this all happened. He hasn’t even fired a web shooter other than at the dinner party, and that night, it had just been stuffed in this duffel bag alongside the rest of his gear, not to be touched since. It’s still inside the bag now. He gazes down at the whites of the eyes as he lowers his head and shoulders, and his thoughts are blank aside from the creeping sorrow around his heart.

“Are you going to put it on?” It’s Tony’s voice behind him, and when Peter turns his head, he sees him there in the doorway, watching. He has his hands in his pockets, and his gaze is gentle.

Peter blinks, then shifts his feet to face Tony just slightly as his eyes fall back to the mask in his hands. He kneads the fabric lightly between his fingers and presses his lips together.

“I don’t know if I can,” Peter admits softly.

“Why not?” Peter hears Tony take a few slow steps into the room, and the shadow cast from the hallway falls briefly over Peter.

Peter doesn’t answer for a second, but when he speaks, his voice is firm. “Spider-Man couldn’t save either of them. May, or Ben. If- if he couldn’t do that, then what else can’t he do? Who else am I going to not be able to save if I go out there?” Peter looks back at Tony desperately.

Tony still holds that same non-threatening stance a few feet away. “But who won’t even get a chance if you don’t?” Tony argues calmly.

Peter makes a face. “But-” He heaves a breath. “But what if you were right?” he tries again, quieter. “I mean, before. When you took the suit and said I wasn’t ready. What if I’m not, and this shows it? I messed up. Twice, with both of them. And- and if this was before, with my parents- if I’d had these powers then-” Peter blinks again and feels that his eyes are starting to betray him. “I don’t think Spider-Man could have saved them either.”

“Kid.” The word is just barely more than a release of a breath. Tony crosses the rest of the space then, and a familiar hand clasps onto Peter’s shoulder. Peter can’t help but meet his eyes. “You really have to stop blaming yourself like this.” He squeezes and moves to make sure he’s directly in Peter’s line of sight, and Peter can’t help feeling vulnerable under such a concentrated gaze. “I need you to believe me when I tell you that none of it was your fault.”

Peter has to look away and fiddles with the mask to keep from squirming. “I know,” he mumbles.

“You don’t sound like it.” He sees Tony frown out of the corner of his eye, then hears him sigh. “Come here.”

Peter lowers his hands the same moment that Tony moves, and he just sets his head tiredly on Tony’s shoulder while Tony holds him close. He grips Tony’s shirt in one hand while his other hangs, still holding the mask loosely.

“You haven’t done anything wrong, and I’m going to keep saying that until you believe it. And- all of these what-ifs that you’re holding onto, you gotta stop beating yourself up thinking about them. These things just happen, and we can’t always have control. None of it means that Spider-Man isn’t capable, because kid, I’ve seen what you can do.” Tony pauses and rubs Peter’s back carefully. “I understand if you want a break, but this shouldn’t keep you out of the suit forever. You help a lot of people in it, Pete. And I’m proud of you.”

Peter shuts his eyes as he nods, and he tightens his grip on the mask. “Thanks, Tony,” he whispers. They stand like that for a minute, until Peter starts to lean back. Tony lets him go and pushes his hands back into his pockets as he watches Peter’s face. Peter grips the mask in both hands again and frowns at it.

“You can head out now if you want to,” Tony prompts gently. “Or another day. Whenever you’re ready. I’ll even let you swing down from the landing pad if you want. Just this once.” He lifts a hand to gesture vaguely and flashes a smile before relaxing again.

Peter puts a few fingers under the hem of the mask, then meets Tony’s gaze. “Maybe- just for an hour?”

Tony smiles.

Though he doesn’t come across anything that needs intervening, Peter does swing around in the warm evening air and happily greets people who call up to him. He fires one web and swings in a long arc over the street below, grinning to himself as he looks up at the buildings above.

He has to admit, web-slinging around Manhattan is a whole different experience than in Queens.

He enjoys himself again.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We uh, you guys passed 1000 kudos. That's just. Unreal. Wow. I'm floored. I've never shared a work as big as this, and the response is incredible. Thank you to every single one of you.

A loud crash jolts Peter from his sleep.

He sits upright in bed, all senses focused for signs of danger. He hears harsh breathing in the room across the hallway – Tony. Peter is about to jump to his feet when he hears stumbling footsteps, then Tony’s door opening, and he hesitates to listen first. The footsteps continue unevenly down the hall, towards the common area.

“FRIDAY,” Tony’s voice bleeds through the walls, high and reedy between gasps. “Lights. 30%.”

Scared that Tony is ill or injured, Peter leaps out of bed and slips quietly out of his bedroom. He makes his way quickly down the hall but stops short when he sees Tony standing by the top of the stairs with his back to Peter. He’s gripping the railing tightly, and his breaths are coming as short puffs. Peter can see from here the tremor shaking his shoulders. Peter quickly checks for any sign of his spidey senses sending a warning, but he can’t find any signal of danger.

“Tony?” Peter calls hesitantly.

Tony’s reaction is immediate. He spins, a little too quickly, as he almost loses his balance, and his wide eyes lock on Peter. There’s cold sweat on his face and neck, which are both a bit too pale, and he fumbles backwards to grab at the railing again while he raises his other shaking hand towards his chest. Peter’s never seen him look so scared.

Guilt locks down onto Peter’s heart as he takes a step backwards to try to appear as non-threatening as he can. Tony beats him to an apology.

“Sorry,” Tony gasps. “Pete. Jesus. I’m sorry.” He takes a few breaths and tightens his grip on the railing. “I’m fine. Just let me catch my breath.”

It doesn’t seem to be working, though, since in the next second, Tony is lowering himself down to sit on the floor.

Peter takes a few steps closer in alarm, but Tony holds up a hand to reassure him. “I’m okay. Sorry.”

“And you say I apologize too much,” Peter hears himself half-joke.

Tony huffs a laugh and shakes his head, which he then leans back against the railing behind himself.

“Can I do anything?” Peter realizes in that moment that he’s been subconsciously crouching a bit to be closer to Tony’s level.

Tony looks like he’s about to wave him off, but then he lets out a slow, shaky breath and holds his trembling fingers out. “Come here.”

Peter crosses the remaining distance between them to kneel next to Tony’s legs, and Tony’s hands are on him immediately. One presses to Peter’s forehead and pushes back his sleep-tussled hair while his other lands over Peter’s heart. Peter holds still. A few more short pants as he gazes at Peter’s chest, and then Tony seems to start breathing a little easier. It relaxes both of them.

“Sorry I scared you, kid,” Tony murmurs after a minute. He drops his hands, though one remains lightly on his forearm.

Peter is quick to shake his head. “No, you’re fine. Are you fine?”

Tony smiles at Peter’s concern. He lets out another deep breath and leans back fully onto the railing. “Yeah, I’m alright. Just,” he rubs a tired hand down his face, “bad dream.” Tony sits quietly for another moment as he seems to fully recover, and then he’s patting Peter’s arm and moving to get up. Peter jumps to his feet so Tony has the room to stand. Tony clears his throat. “Thanks, kid. You should go back to bed. You have school in the morning.” Tony starts to walk down the stairs, though, heading in the opposite direction of his own bedroom.

“A-aren’t you going to do the same?” Peter calls after him uncertainly.

Tony shakes his head and doesn’t turn around. “No, I’m going to go to the lab for a bit.” When he reaches the bottom of the stairs and looks back to see Peter’s conflicted expression, he softens his gaze. “I’m fine now. Really. They never last long for me. I just need to take my mind off things for a while.” He waves a hand vaguely at Peter in a shooing motion. “Go back to sleep.”

Tony vanishes into the elevator, and Peter lingers for another moment before reluctantly returning to his own room. He lays awake, though, listening for any sounds of Tony coming back up from the lab, but he eventually drifts off again.

 

 

Tony is still on edge the next morning when Peter comes into the kitchen before school. Tony stands with his back leaned against the counter as he sips his coffee, and he barely offers more than a smile of acknowledgement when he sees Peter. The dull look in his eyes that are having trouble focusing on Peter’s face before they quickly dart away again makes Peter doubt he had ever returned to bed himself last night. Peter knows that he does a bad job of hiding the way he watches Tony worriedly while he prepares and eats his own breakfast, but Tony either hardly notices or is too detached to care.

Eventually, Peter has to leave, or he’ll be late, and he shrugs his backpack onto his shoulders. Tony is frowning at his phone now and has been typing for the past few minutes. Peter lingers uncertainly at the kitchen table, bouncing his fist against the surface.

“I have decathlon practice after school,” Peter announces. Tony hums and doesn’t look up. “So, uh, I’ll be home a bit later.”

“Mhm.” Eyes still on his phone.

“This is the last meeting this year, before the competition.”

“Sounds good, bud.” Well, that’s at least a verbal response now, even as Tony’s thumbs continue typing and he glares at whatever message he’s composing.

“And that’s this weekend. The competition.” Peter pauses and waits for a response, though it doesn’t come. “It’s here in New York. You’ll be there?”

Tony hits send, finally, and lifts his head to meet Peter’s nervous gaze with slightly round eyes as he processes what Peter’s said. Belatedly, his mouth stretches into a smile as he straightens. “Yes, of course I’ll be there.” He takes a breath and seems to shake himself. “Saturday, I remember. I’ll bring a big sign and be cheering your name.”

Peter smiles back, then rolls his eyes. “I didn’t say you could embarrass me.”

“That’s my job.” Tony checks his watch. “Oh. You better get going.”

“I am. I’ll see you.”

“Have a good day, kid.”

Peter’s gaze remains on Tony as he backs away and Tony turns to pour more coffee from the pot. He takes in the still slumped shoulders and the faint tremor made visible in his mug as he holds it. The elevator closes around a frowning Peter.

 

 

“Something’s up with Tony.”

Peter sets his tray down on the cafeteria table next to Ned, and the announcement cuts off his and MJ’s conversation as they look up at him.

“What do you mean?” Ned breaks the silence first as Peter sits.

Peter shrugs and shakes his head. “He was really freaked out last night. Like, nightmare, panic attack, all that.”

“Is he okay?” MJ furrows her brow at him across the table.

“I don’t know. This morning he was still weird.”

“Well, what was the nightmare about?” Ned asks.

“I don’t know,” Peter repeats with a release of breath. “He said he still gets nightmares about the alien invasion- Maybe it’s something like that?”

“Could be,” Ned considers before sipping his juice. He gazes past the group to where a group of girls is working on hanging a banner to advertise prom tickets.

“Did you try asking him what’s going on?”

Peter frowns at MJ. “I don’t think he would tell me even if I did. He doesn’t like talking about stuff, and I don’t think he wants me worrying.”

“Except the silence is probably only making that worse.”

“Catch-22,” Ned hums.

“Exactly.” Peter shakes his milk and squints. “Maybe it was just this one time. Hopefully, at least. It’s just weird seeing Tony like this.”

“Still going on about Tony Stark, huh?” a sudden voice interrupts, and Peter just shakes his head and doesn’t look over.

“Keep walking, Flash,” MJ cuts in easily with a cold stare towards Flash, who stands by their table holding his own tray.

“So he’s got you two sucked into it too, huh? Come on, we all know that internship is fake, and now this? Guess it was about time you stepped up the lie.”

“Leave.” MJ gazes at him challenging, and Flash meets her eyes, though he starts backing away.                                                                                                        

“Cool of you to have her fight your battles for you.”

“Ignore him, Peter,” Ned mutters once Flash is gone and Peter is stabbing at his food.

“He’s just jealous and doesn’t know how to deal with his own issues,” MJ adds.

“Yeah, I know.” Peter sighs. “It’s fine. Thanks, though.”

“Anyway,” Ned draws out before breaking into a grin and leaning in. “I saw a video of Spider-Man?”

 

 

Peter is shocked to see when he comes out of the elevator at home that Rhodey is there. He’s caught them in an apparently intimate conversation, as Tony sits hunched on the couch with Rhodey on the edge of his own seat and leaning towards him. Peter’s steps stop in surprise, but Rhodey looks up and smiles confidently while Tony immediately straightens with a frankly spooked look at Peter, though it vanishes in the next second as he schools his expression into something more relaxed.

“Hey, Pete,” Rhodey greets as he stands. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You, too.” Peter’s voice is a little hesitant even as he tries to be casual. “Hey, Tony.”

Tony has also stood. “How was school, kid?” He’s closed off again, casting a smile over his shoulder as he picks up a few discarded glasses and turns in the direction of the kitchen with them.

“It was good.” Peter can’t help but let his gaze slide to Rhodey again, who handles it like a champ.

“I was just in town and thought I’d drop in for a visit.”

Sure. A visit. Nothing else going on at all.

Rhodey strides after Tony, his braces whirring and clicking as he goes, and Peter decides to follow.

“You should let me take a look at those while you’re here.” Tony points at Rhodey’s legs.

“Yeah, I might. The right one’s been a bit stiff.”

“We can go down to the lab in a bit. Pete, you hungry? Honeybear?”

“I could eat,” Rhodey hums with a smile as Peter nods.

“I have left-over chow mein,” Tony announces as he pulls out a few Chinese take-out boxes.

They all sit to eat together a short time later, and Tony seems back to himself as he cracks jokes and jabs fun at Rhodey. He looks relaxed, although when Peter looks more closely, he notices how each smile still fails to fully crinkle his eyes, and his movements as he eats are just a bit too jerky and hasty. And Peter isn’t sure, but it also seems that Rhodey is watching Tony a little too much, even when the two aren’t addressing each other.

“Well, we should head down now,” Tony finally says to Rhodey as he gathers their plates. Rhodey stands. “You have a lot of homework?” Tony looks to Peter, who takes the cue and slowly slides off his chair, grabbing his backpack from the floor.

“Yeah, a bit.”

“I’ll see you around, Peter.” Rhodey gives him a smile

Peter retreats towards his room, though at the top of the stairs he looks back to see Tony and Rhodey standing close as they head to the elevator, Tony’s arm around his friend’s shoulders.

Honesty. Not hiding anything. It’s what Tony’s been preaching all week, but it looks like that might only be going one way right now.

As soon as his bedroom door is shut, Peter pulls out his phone and opens the group chat with Ned and MJ.

_P: The plot thickens._


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you times three thousand to each and every one of you. 
> 
> Sorry I didn't get this next chapter up sooner. I had planned to have it out a week ago, but life and responsibility and all that. The very last thing I ever want is for this to start feeling like a chore or something on a time constraint because I feel like quality suffers first, and you all deserve better than that. I really do love working on this story and trying to provide something that you enjoy. 
> 
> Thank you all again.

It’s like the seal has been broken.

After being so reluctant to put on the mask for so long, and now having finally done it, it’s all Peter wants to do now. It’s similar to those first few months after first receiving the suit from Tony, when he’d tapped his pencil impatiently all day at school and itched for the moment he could run into the alley and emerge swinging. But now the urge is even stronger.

Spider-Man is his escape. Outside of the suit, he’s Peter Parker, and he’s shrouded day in and day out by grief. It weighs him down and leaves him exhausted, yet his heart still jumps in his chest like an anxious jackrabbit. It’s a painful contrast that he can’t wait to escape more and more with each second that he spends trapped in it.

But Spider-Man is completely different. He slides on that mask, and he can breathe. The ache goes away. He’s strong and confident as he soars from building to building. Nothing matters beyond catching the next bad guy.

He stuffs the suit into his backpack each morning and spends the days with his thoughts continually sliding back to it. By the end of the last class period, he’s drumming his fingers on his thigh, then shoots up from his desk the moment that the bell rings. Quick goodbyes to Ned and MJ as he hurries through the hallways, and then Peter’s disappearing back into his usual alleyway and soaring out as Spider-Man a minute later.

Tony seems more than happy to see Peter returning to his neighborhood hero antics. Peter has Karen shoot off a quick text to him while Peter scales the sides of buildings in search of higher ground, and Tony messages back with a casual reminder to be back before dinner and to be safe, then welcomes back Peter with a relaxed smile and a ruffle to his hair later in the evening. It seems like a relief they’ve both been searching for.

But Peter still sees the pinched creases at the corners of Tony’s eyes and the tired bruises underneath once Peter is lying upside down off the side of the couch with his chemistry book while Tony sits across from him on his phone. Peter rambles and regales Tony with stories from his patrols, and living in the memories of being in the suit lets Peter stay detached from himself a little longer, though it’s apparent that Tony still has something he can’t escape himself and that he seems adamant to not divulge in.

So, Peter devises a plan.

Catch Tony in the act again. Peter knows that he’s not the only one in the penthouse experiencing insomnia. He hasn’t heard Tony have another nightmare, but Peter can clearly see the tiredness on his face and knows that they’re still happening as much as he tries to hide it. He doubts that Tony is going to make it as obvious as he had Sunday night by leaving his room again and waking Peter, so Peter has to stay on his toes and be vigilant.

He really does try to stay awake listening, long enough for Tony to fall asleep and start dreaming. It should be easy with Peter’s recent history, every other night he’s lain awake tossing and turning, unable to shut off his own mind. He blames the patrols and studying for finals for wearing him out. Peter passes out, slumped sideways, laptop still on his thighs with the Netflix home screen casting shadows under his cheeks.

He dreams of May. It’s always May, lately. But tonight is different. It’s a good dream. That’s what makes it bad.

They’re in the apartment, and he just sees her. She’s fanning smoke out the window after a cooking failure, laughing and smiling at Peter over her shoulder. She’d tried hard to make a new recipe for him that she’d thought he’d like. He can see by the determination in her eyes that she’s going to try again.

She’s fumbling with the keys as they stand in the hallway. She can’t get the door open because she’s holding too many grocery bags, and Peter is already carrying too much himself to relieve her. The keys fall to the floor, and they both huff an annoyed laugh before she shakes her head.

She’s picking up discarded t shirts from his floor with the intention of doing laundry, and her hair is pushed to the side to fall over one shoulder and across her face. She straightens and points towards him, says something that doesn’t matter because Peter only sees her smile.

She’s sitting next to him on the couch, legs curled up while they watch a movie together. There’s an afghan over her lap and a mug in one hand, while her other reaches towards him. He feels her hand at the back of his neck, and he loves her.

He blinks his eyes open to the burning glow of his computer screen. Peter shoves it away groggily as he draws a shuddering breath and lifts his neck, which twinges from the half-sitting position he’d fallen asleep in. His hand passes over his eyes and catches tears, and he leans forward to hold his head in his hands while his back quivers.

His chest feels raw, like he needs to cry but won’t. His limbs are heavy and buzzing with the overwhelming feeling of exhaustion, but there’s that pain again as well, demanding his time and to be felt. The ghosts of May’s fingers are still pushing into the nape of his neck, and he claws at the spot desperately only to come up with empty air and his own stubble, damp with sweat.

He doesn’t want to sit in this. Lonely, shaky, grieving, dead tired. Peter swings his legs off the bed and strides purposefully towards his bedroom door, but as soon as he takes a step out into the hallway, he stops. He doesn’t know if he’s surprised or not to see the glow leaking out from under Tony’s door, but it reminds him instantly of what he’d originally attempted to stay up to do. Peter shuffles forward and taps his knuckles lightly against the wood, then twists the knob at the quiet “it’s open” that comes in return.

Tony sits at the foot of his bed, shoulders hunches but head turned to watch Peter enter and shut the door again behind himself. Peter doesn’t know why he does that. There’s no one else here. Peter blinks at Tony in the light.

“You okay?” Tony asks, sounding exhausted himself, and Peter knows exactly how he appears. Hair tussled in every direction, t shirt askew on his shoulder, sweat on his brow and eyes red. He feels like a kid as he shuffles over to Tony, but that hole in his chest and primal instinct is keeping him from caring and turning right back around.

“Bad dream,” Peter mumbles.

Tony nods once in understanding. “It’s in the air tonight.” Sure is. Tony pats the space beside him welcomingly, even though Peter’s already moving to sink into it.

Tony sits up a bit more to be able to wrap an arm around Peter’s back, though he leans forward onto his knee again while he rubs between Peter’s shoulder blades. Peter stares at the floor and wrings his fingers and focuses on the point of Tony’s pulse in his thumb. His heart rate seems to just be coming back down now, and Peter wonders if Tony can pick up on his own racing pulse. Tony lifts his hand to briefly grasp the back of Peter’s neck, and Peter shuts his eyes with the overlapping sensation of May’s hand there. He breathes.

They just sit for a few minutes, and Tony’s arm falls loose around the middle of Peter’s back against his ribs. They inhale, exhale, hearts double thump together, as time stretches out and puts them both back in sync, until, finally:

“You want to talk about it?” Tony’s voice weighs heavy in the night air.

“No,” Peter pauses. “Do you?”

“No.”

Peter nods.

Friday comes, and with it, the last day of school. Yearbooks get passed around, though Peter doesn’t sign any. None of the three friends had ordered one, though at lunch it’s all anyone else can talk about as every fourth person has one in their hands. Peter sits waiting for Ned and MJ to join him in the cafeteria when the group of girls at a nearby table breaks out laughing and awing.

“Look it’s us at homecoming! Oh my god, that was such a fun night!”

Peter stabs his food with a little more force than necessary and almost snaps the plastic fork.

It’s like having chicken pox. Peter has never had chicken pox, but he imagines that it would be exactly like this. An itch you can’t scratch. Literally can’t and shouldn’t, because scratching it would only feed it and make it worse and even more impossible to ignore. That’s this, right now, except instead of scratching something, Peter can’t look at it. And _it_ is very verbal and flashy and positioned just a degree out of his current line of sight.

He hears the snickers down the line of the rest of the decathlon team as they sit at the long table together on the stage. He sets his jaw as his pencil scratches across the page, in a race against his opponent while he tries to ignore his distraction. He’s got this. This is the only thing that matters and that he needs to focus on. The problem. Not the itch.

Peter pauses, holds his breath, just for a second as his eyes scan rapidly down the page, and he hears the itch speak under his breath.

“Come on, Peter,” he whispers above the tense silence. Peter imagines him sitting on the edge of his seat, eyes locked on him.

Peter throws his pencil down and slams the buzzer confidently.

He’s right.

“Good job Pete!” Tony’s voice booms over the polite applause, and now Peter can’t resist looking at where he sits in the front row, flashing his teeth in a huge grin and being all sorts of embarrassing as he cheers. It’s been like this after every single answer Peter has given. At least Tony’s not waving the sign anymore.

“At least he didn’t bring a foam finger or an airhorn,” Ned adds to Peter’s right while the judge walks to address the other team.

Tony extends his arm in a thumbs up. Peter pointedly ignores Tony’s gaze with an eye-roll, though he can’t help the smile that breaks the frown on his lips from the unflinching support.

 

They win, and Tony loses his shit just as much as the high schoolers on stage do. He leaps to his feet, the first and last one applauding while the Midtown decathlon team crowds around the trophy that MJ receives. Ned intercepts Peter, and they go through their handshake excitedly.

Tony meets him when Peter climbs down from the stage, and he’s immediately pulled into a hug. Peter laughs into Tony’s shoulder while Tony congratulates him, though Peter can’t help eyeing the poster board discarded on Tony’s empty seat.

“I told you not to bring a sign,” Peter accuses when they pull away, and Tony just smiles innocently.

“How could I not? You know how I am. And I told you, it’s my job.”

Ned bounds up behind Peter, and Tony turns to clasp his hand with a grin and words of praise, though one hand remains on Peter’s shoulder. Peter can’t seem to get the smile to leave his lips.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! God, it feels like forever since I last updated. But I'm here! And hopefully there won't be a break that long again. 
> 
> A quick thank you to all of you reading. You're all amazing.
> 
> Have a sick fic to make up for the wait.

It’s hot.

Peter stops on a rooftop, panting, and just barely stops his hand as it starts to twitch up with the intention of ripping his mask off for some air. He’s sweating, and no amount of cool air that Karen pumps at him seems to be doing the trick. It’s so unbelievably _hot_ today. He blames the sun. It has no right to be behaving this way. He throws his head back and glares at the offending source in the sky above him and swears that it must be just feet away. It’s gotta be melting the concrete he’s standing on.

Peter lets his chin fall again, and two fingers pinch the bridge of his nose. Not only is he hot, but his head has already been pounding for some time, and it’s getting stronger. It’s been a rough patrol – Spider-Man has really been working overtime on this one. Lots of action and hard work and goddamn sweat. But it’s summer, and he’s finally got all the free time in the day to be swinging around, and Manhattan is just that much safer. He thinks it’s worth it.

His body doesn’t seem to agree, though. In the few weeks that have passed since school ended, Peter’s taken up a routine with Spider-Man as his full-time gig. He wakes up, catches breakfast with Tony, catches the occasional unspoken shadows under Tony’s eyes, sweeps away the memories of his own nighttime struggles, then snags his suit and shares the elevator ride down the tower. Tony departs to a different floor each day with a pat to Peter’s shoulder or a ruffle of his hair and goes on to take care of his industry. Peter finishes the ride then bounds out through the lobby, and Spider-Man pops up swinging out in the city.

He's been escaping again. Trying to push away Peter Parker as much as possible, and that means not commenting on Tony’s sleep loss or acknowledging his own. He’s Spider-Man. Spider-Man doesn’t have problems to worry about, except maybe working hard enough to be so exhausted that later on, Peter can fall right asleep.

And Peter is exhausted. He’s going to cut it short today.

The sun follows his every move as he makes his way back home; he’s certain that its rays bend to purposefully focus directly on him. He wishes it would cut it out already, but never in his life has he been more grateful for air conditioning when he finally slumps against the back wall of the elevator in the tower, on his way back to the penthouse.

Peter stumbles unsteadily into the common area and lets his backpack drop to the floor in his wake. He wants to collapse and follow it, but his feet are determined to get him to the kitchen. Water. Water is even better than the floor or air conditioning combined. He’d bet that water could beat both of them in a fight.

Peter isn’t sure how he himself would stand against any of them right now, though, because when he reaches the counter, all he can do is plant his palms on the surface and lean into it, shaking. He can’t seem to bring himself to raise his arms from where they’re bracing himself to reach the glasses. Flaw in the plan.

The world around him is spinning and glowing, and he’ll admit now that he perhaps didn’t call it quits the first time is crossed his mind that afternoon on patrol. Blood rushes in his ears, a perfect metronome to the pounding across his head. Maybe he’s going to pass out.

“Peter?”

No such luck.

His dulling senses get jolted right back into place at the familiar voice behind him, and it’s enough of a surprise to give him the energy to turn and face Tony, who is stepping around Peter’s discarded backpack in his approach. Narrowed eyes sweep over Peter, who desperately tries to look casual as he leans on the counter.

“You okay, kid?”

Peter knows how he looks. Probably flushed red, sweating, swaying? Yes, swaying, he feels that now. He’s lightheaded, but the pain hasn’t gotten that memo and still hammers away. It’s hard to look at Tony in the full daylight coming through the window. Hasn’t Tony heard of curtains? They make big ones, like in theaters. Massive red velvet curtains that could surely plunge this place into midnight with the tug of a rope. End of act. Take a bow, sun, your performance is done for the day.

Yeah, he’s not 100% with it right now.

Peter blinks and tries not to squint as Tony reaches him. “I thought you had a meeting?”

“FRIDAY sent me an alert. Told me something’s up.”

Traitor.

A hand is wrapping around the curve of Peter’s shoulder, and Peter realizes that Tony is standing close enough that he can safely let up his position against the counter to lean into him, because the smooth fabric of the suit jacket on Tony’s shoulder looks so welcoming and much more comfortable and familiar than the counter, and the initial embarrassment is nothing against Tony.

Tony could beat them all. Embarrassment, stubbornness, water, air conditioning, the counter, and the floor. Choose your fighter.

Peter’s head really hurts.

“Woah, hey. Kid?” Tony’s other arm immediately wraps around Peter’s middle as he all but collapses into him. “Jeez, you’re warm. Are you sick?”

Peter grunts and squeezes his eyes shut in the curve of Tony’s neck. “I’m fine. ‘S just hot out.”

“Yeah, hot enough to give you heatstroke. Here, come sit down before you keel over on me.”

Peter slides into the barstool that Tony guides him towards, then crumples to lay his head on his forearms. He hears the tap run, the most beautiful sound in the world, and Peter just barely lifts his head in time to see the glass sat down directly in front of him. He has to cradle it with both hands, elbows on the tabletop as he gulps it down. His temples still throb.

Tony stands beside him, lips pressed and quirked and eyes hard as he watches Peter. “How are you feeling?” His voice is as hard as his expression, but Peter still notes the concern behind it.

He wishes he cared enough to try to hide and brush it off, but he just swallows and lays his head in one palm. “Head hurts,” he mumbles. “It’s killing me.”

“You’re probably dehydrated,” Tony sighs. “And stressed.” He takes the empty glass and refills it. “Drink this for me, and then we’ll take care of the headache.”

Peter empties this one more slowly, and Tony sits while he does. Peter has to keep pausing to knead his forehead, and he knows every move is being watched closely.

“How long has it been?” Tony asks, voice quiet and low.

Peter frowns. “The headache came first,” he admits. “Couple hours. It’s getting worse.”

Tony hums. “Well, lucky for you, I know just how to take care of these things. Drink up, and we’ll go to my room, okay?”

Peter nods, though he feels sick at the movement and the way it makes his head spin.

Once he’s set the empty glass back down, Peter watches through squinted eyes as Tony move it closer to himself, before he stands and presses firmly into Peter’s back while his other hand hovers expectantly. Peter just turns and pushes his head into Tony’s shoulder as he stands slowly, and Tony quickly gathers him against his chest.

“Alright, I’ve got you,” he assures softly. “Come on.”

They head down the hall to Tony’s room, and Tony walks him to the bed, where Peter immediately curls up on his side with his face pressed into the pillow. He’s spinning. His brain might be leaking out of his ears. Tony’s hand lingers in Peter’s hair.

“Give me one minute, I’ll be right back. Just try to relax.”

Peter listens and tracks Tony’s movements as he closes the curtains – not the big velvet red ones that Peter had been dreaming of, but they’ll suffice. Tony leaves, and Peter peeks when he comes back to see him with more water, a washcloth, and a bottle of painkillers. Peter reshuffles his mental line up at the sight of the pills. Maybe those are his true champion. Tony has Peter sit up briefly to take them along with a sip, then lays him back down and adjusts the blankets to make sure they’re well away from his overheated body. He also moves the trashcan close to the side of the bed, just in case.

Tony sheds the jacket and tie, and soon enough he’s just in his undershirt and slacks. The dip in the mattress surprises Peter when he climbs in beside him, though Peter just rolls to face Tony and push his face into his ribs. He still feels like he’s spinning, but Tony is solid and secure and something that he can try to hold on to.

“I know I’m wearing cologne, is that okay?” Tony’s voice is just a rumble.

Peter nods into his side. It’s a familiar, reassuring scent, and it’s grounding him. Another contender in the match against his headache.

The only time that Tony makes him move is to wet his forehead and temples with the cloth, though he supports his head in one palm as he leans over him, then guides him slowly back down. Tony gently cools Peter’s cheek and the back of his neck, then settles the cloth there, and Peter could cry at the relief it gives him already. There are hands in his hair, as Tony gently massages without speaking, and the fist Peter has balled up in Tony’s undershirt gradually relaxes. Tony uses that opportunity to pick up his hand a few times to knead at pressure points in his palm, and Peter forces his wrist to relax in Tony’s hold, trusting him to help.

Time bleeds and loses meaning in the haze of pain and exhaustion, though Peter’s sure that it’s been quite a while already when it gets worse before it gets better. Peter screws his face up and presses closer to Tony, who adjusts to lay down more so Peter can settle his head on his shoulder.

“You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Tony rubs his back slowly with the arm underneath Peter while his other keeps up the massage. Peter grips Tony’s shirt over his stomach while his other worms up to press into the bridge of his nose. It’s wet.

He realizes he actually is crying now, and Tony notices in the same moment. “I know, I know,” he whispers, barely more than a breath. “Deep breaths.”

Tony shifts, and Peter can’t even try to stop him as Tony leaves briefly to change out the cloth. Peter mourns for a time when he didn’t feel like he was spinning, spiraling deeper into the bed with each beat in his temples. But then Tony returns, a grounding force, and he sits next to Peter, who rolls onto his back and grips Tony’s calf while Tony repeats the process of washing his face and neck, lifting his shirt just enough to get the tops of his shoulders.

“Can you give me a number, Pete?” Tony brushes back his hair carefully.

Peter swallows and forces his tongue to work. “Um. 7?”

Peter starts to open his eyes to look at him, but Tony quickly covers them with his palm to block the light. “Keep ‘em closed, it’s alright. I’m right here.” Tony pushes his fingers back into his hair, pressing lightly with a practiced touch. “We’re gonna try to bring that back down. You’re okay. Can you try to drink some more water for me?”

He’s on his stomach, practically laying on top of Tony and holding him tightly while he massages him and brushes his fingers repetitively through his hair.

“It’s just stress. It’ll pass. I’m here.”

They go back to not talking.

Over the next hour, as Peter just focuses on matching his breathing to the press and release of Tony’s ribcage against his own, maps the hand on his head as it moves across his scalp, the pain starts to fade. Peter slowly relaxes.

Tony wins. Tony beats them all, even the water and the painkillers. Hands down. They’re just tools, and Tony is the one who fixes things.

“How do you know to do all this?” Peter finally speaks without lifting his head or opening his eyes.

Tony just moves his fingers carefully through Peter’s hair in that repetitive, soothing motion. “I get headaches and migraines a lot,” he admits quietly. “Hours in the lab, looking at screens, stress of the job. But I’ve picked up a lot of little tricks that can help.” Tony pauses, and Peter hears him shift his head. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. Like a 3 maybe.”

“A 3 is better,” Tony agrees in a hum. “That’s good. But don’t move just yet, keep those eyes closed and relax. Try to rest if you can.”

Peter does, and it keeps getting better. Once it’s gone to the point of just a dull ache, Peter falls asleep, curled up close in Tony’s arms with his beard tickling at his forehead. He thinks he might even feel Tony’s lips briefly on the top of his head as he drifts.

 

When he’s awake again, and all traces of pain and weariness gone, the mood has shifted. Though, of course, Peter had seen it coming. Tony isn’t happy that this whole situation had arisen in the first place, and he makes sure Peter knows that.

“That was dangerous, Peter.” He levels him with a firm gaze, but again, Peter notes the care fueling it. “Could have been a lot worse. You gotta take it easier on yourself out there. No more waiting until you’re about to collapse before you stop.”

Peter grimaces. “Definitely. Noted.” It’s the last thing he wants to happen again, as well.

“How about you go change? And take a shower, you stink, kid.”

Peter makes an indignant noise and elbows Tony’s chest.

Tony laughs. “You do! Sweaty, smelly teenage boy, stinking up my sheets. Get out of here already.” He pushes Peter’s head back playfully, and Peter just snorts and rolls his eyes as he moves away.

“Fine.”

“Glad you’re doing better, Pete. Be thinking about what you want to do for dinner.”

Peter smiles as he shuts the door behind himself.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to all of my readers! Really, seeing your response always makes my day. Every hit, every kudos, all the comments, subs, and bookmarks - I love y'all. 
> 
> To all the American readers out there - hope you had a great Fourth everyone. Here's my little celebration.

The fourth of July comes, and a barbecue has been organized up at the compound for everyone to come together and celebrate. Tony, Bruce, and Peter leave the tower to drive there together in the afternoon, and Peter spends the long ride alternating between texting Ned and MJ about how excited he is, playing games on his phone to pass the time, and peppering Bruce with questions and ideas about his research.

With the time off from school, alongside going out as Spider-Man, Peter has also been spending more and more time joining Bruce in his lab. It’s been exciting to work with world-renowned Bruce Banner, and this drive to the barbecue only gives Peter even more time to brainstorm with him as he leans in on the two adults from the backseat.

Of course, Tony has ulterior motives for the party. It also happens to be Steve’s birthday, and Tony couldn’t pass up this opportunity to make it a birthday party. And to jab at Steve about his age when they get to the compound and join the rest of the group out on the lawn. Steve and Bucky aren’t amused as they stand side by side in front of Tony and Peter, and admittedly it’s a little weird to see the two of them in shorts and t shirts, Bucky’s hair pulled back into a bun.

This is Peter’s life now. What.

Tony of course doesn’t care and plows on ahead.

“You’re a hundred-and-one today! You passed a whole century! We have to celebrate. Oh, hey- how old does that make you, Barnes?”

Steve glowers. “Leave him out of this and go get a hotdog.”

“Come on, Rogers, you know I’m a cheeseburger man,” Tony grins as he steps away, Peter in tow as he casts apologetic smiles at the two super soldiers. “Who’s on the grill? Vision! You better have a well-done patty waiting for me.”

Peter covers his eyes with his hand.

 

Peter is at the far end of the food table, working on smooshing his bun down without getting ketchup all over his hands, while Tony stands by the cooler with Rhodey. Rhodey digs around in the ice for drinks.

“You want a beer, Tones?” he offers as he holds up a bottle, though to Peter’s surprise, Tony waves the hand not holding his plate.

“No.” Tony’s voice lowers, but not enough, as Peter still hears him mutter, “I’m trying to cut out drinking.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Peter sees Rhodey smile, grasp Tony’s shoulder, then set a lemonade in front of him instead.

The party has been set up in the lawn at the center of the compound, with lots of wide space sprawling around them. Everyone mills about near the grill and the food, where a radio has been brought out and plays a classic rock station. Lots of Springsteen on this patriotic day. Peter stands with Natasha and Bucky when Clint comes running towards them across the lawn.

He stops short about twenty feet away and holds high a football. “Avengers, assemble!” Everyone else turns to look as he drops the football in his hands to punt it over everyone’s heads and into the wide grassy space beyond them. “Team up, we’re playing a game!”

“Awesome.” Peter grins and runs to follow it.

It’s a tough game. Expected, when Peter’s playing against a bunch of enhanced and highly athletic opponents. But he’s having a blast, and after a tackle from Clint that had Tony’s heart stuttering from the sidelines, Peter is determined not to let his team win. In a last-ditch effort to score, Peter calls on his inner spider and does a tricky move as he dodges Bucky, leaps over Sam, gets shouldered by Clint mid-air, ends up hitting the ground hard, and rolls into the endzone.

“Peter!” Tony yells, panicked.

Clint moves to hover over Peter in shock. “Shit, Peter, I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

Peter cuts Clint off as he springs to his feet, grass stains on his t shirt, and holds up the ball in triumph. “Tony! Did you see that?!” he calls excitedly. “I got a touchdown!”

Tony puts a hand on his chest and releases a breath, looking like he’s just run a mile, before sending Peter a thumbs up along with a ghost of a smile. “That was great, kid,” he compliments breathlessly.

The other Avengers all turn to hide their own fond expressions. Sam claps and calls for them to reset.

After football, they move on to soccer, and Peter absolutely annihilates everyone else as he springs up and weaves around them with the ball, lips pressed into a line in concentration. Those superhero muscles may win in football, but Peter and Natasha have everyone beat with their agility. It comes to the point where they reach the goal cheering and celebrating each time while the others pant with their hands on their hips, defeated far across the field. Poor Bruce is sweating.

“I want to switch teams,” Bucky grumbles as he sits up between the goal markers after another failed attempt at diving to stop Peter’s kick.

 

Once everyone is worn from the games, Tony decides that it’s time to get their energy back and brings out the birthday cake for Steve. It’s decorated in red, white and blue, with a sparkler in the center. Around it, the frosting cheerfully spells out ‘Happy Birthday America!’.

“Sorry there’s only one,” Tony hums. “If we had a sparkler for every year, that would have been a major fire hazard.”

Steve stands with his arms folded, staring at Tony, but Peter can see the smile he’s trying to hold back.

“Go on and blow it out! Make a wish! And quick, it’s ice cream cake, not baked Alaska.”

Peter perks up at the mention of ice cream cake while Steve relents and extinguishes the sparkler.

“Hey! Happy birthday, Cap.”

 

Evening comes, and with it, Clint wielding firewood and a bottle of kerosene. He and Steve make quick work of constructing the campfire, and by the time the sun is setting, everyone has gathered around it. Natasha approaches Peter with a bag of marshmallows, and he gladly accepts it to start making smores with the others.

“The trick,” Peter coaches everyone as the Avengers all lean into the fire with their marshmallows properly skewered, “is to get the outside nice and golden, and the inside melted, without burning it. Perfect smore every time.”

Sam draws his poker back and frowns at the blackened and smoldering marshmallow. “I think I did it wrong.”

Tony laughs.

The sun finishes its descent below the horizon as the excitement of the day winds down. Beyond the circle of chairs, in the grass and out into the darkness at the edge of the trees, Peter watches as fireflies flicker their call and response to each other. The radio still plays quietly, just loud enough to be heard over the crackle of the fire.

With the sun gone, the air cools rather quickly, and Vision departs to return with blankets that get passed around. Peter, shivering slightly now with the drop in temperature, presses his chair right up against Tony’s and huddles under the blanket with him, Tony’s arm around his shoulders and close enough to the fire for it to warm his legs. He hums and cuddles up comfortably.

There’s a break in the conversation when a distant boom echoes around the compound. Peter glances towards the sky in search of fireworks, but he doesn’t see any above the trees, even as more echo the first explosion.

“We’re too far away to see them,” Tony explains softly at Peter’s side, and Peter glances at him. “A lot of the team don’t do fireworks well, but this is okay.”

Peter accepts that with a nod. He lays his head back against Tony’s shoulder and gazes up again. The stars have come out now, and he’s been watching them blink into view one by one, but now the sky is filled with them. He’s never seen so many at once. Back in the city, there’s no room in the sky for so many stars. But here, this is gorgeous, and Peter is captivated.

“See that star there?” Tony’s voice, quiet and low, draws Peter’s attention again, and he tilts his head to see Tony’s arm pointing up towards a bright star. The crickets chirp as Peter blinks calmly up at it. “That’s Polaris. North star. It’s part of Ursa Minor – the little dipper. And just to the left of it is Ursa Major.“ Tony drops his hand. “Andromeda is somewhere off to the right, probably behind those trees. Right, Brucie?” Tony rolls his head to look at him as he leans back in his chair.

Bruce nods. “That’s right.” He lifts his own arm to indicate the sky. “But look straight up, Peter.” Peter does, letting his head fall back again. “There’s Hercules. You’ve got those four stars making his body, and he’s running.“

Sam silently draws away from his chair beside Steve, taking his blanket with him, and spreads it on the grass with a slow billow. He settles down on his back, arms behind his head, and gazes up at where Bruce and Tony take turns drawing lines in the sky. Natasha leans her head back on Bucky’s shoulder, who has his chin tilted up and eyes on the moon. Clint pauses his poking at the logs in the fire to cast his eyes upwards as well. Even Vision and Wanda have their eyes on the stars. They’re all in a trance, as the insects hum and the two scientist’s voices guide them through the cosmos.

“Now, one you can’t see.” Tony shifts a little bit against Peter’s side before gesturing towards the tree line, and Peter lowers his head with a blink. “It’s below us right now, just under the horizon, but it’s visible here in winter. Taurus.” Tony breathes in deep, and Bruce looks towards Tony. “The brightest star, the center of the constellation, is called Aldebaran. There’s a star cluster above it, to the right, the Pleiades.” Peter nods. “And just to the left of that, there’s another star.”

Tony pauses. Steve looks down.

“That’s where the wormhole took me.”

Tony tilts his head back again, gazing up at the stars, and Peter can see the mental map behind his eyes as it traces each star and distant galaxy together. The glow of the fire throws shadows on his cheeks and up into his hair, but his eyes are bright, reflecting their light.

“May was a Taurus,” Peter whispers after a pause. Call it coincidence, call it fate, Peter doesn’t really care in that moment. “I’m glad it brought you back.”

 

With the lateness of the hour and the length of the drive back home, they decide to stay the night at the compound. The group remains huddled around the fire, talking, until Clint stops feeding it and allows the flames to dwindle to glowing embers. They call it a night when the first shiver goes down Peter’s spine, and Tony and Peter join the gradual line of Avengers heading into the compound.

It’s only Peter’s second time here, and it’s just as awesome as the first. The excitement would usually be enough to make Peter want to stay up all night running around and exploring, but tonight he’s surprised to find that the day has actually left him ready to sleep. Another time.

Tony guides Peter to his bedroom, then leaves him to get settled. Peter goes through his routine, texting Ned and MJ all the while and catching up on each other’s days. He’s curled up on his side in bed, typing away at his phone when there’s a soft knock and the door opens again.

“You good in here, kid?” Tony pokes his head around the doorframe, and Peter locks his phone and sets it down.

“Yeah.” Peter smiles as Tony enters fully.

“And you had a good time today?”

“Yeah, it was a lot of fun.”

“Good. Steve and I were just cleaning up.” He gestures offhandedly over his shoulder. Peter wonders how that had gone, the two of them working together again, but the relaxation in Tony’s shoulders gives Peter a good feeling. “Thought I’d come say goodnight before I go to bed.”

Peter smiles again. “Goodnight, Tony.”

The corner of Tony’s mouth tugs up, and he reaches down to push Peter’s hair back from his face. Peter can smell the campfire smoke still on his clothes. It’s soothing.

“Goodnight, Pete.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did my research, and May was born in May and is a Taurus. And I found out that the Chitauri are named after the star Chi Tauri in the constellation Taurus. It's a perfect coincidence I just couldn't pass up.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to all of you again! I'm constantly floored by your response to this, your comments and kudos are the light of my life. You're all incredible.

Some days, the relief that the suit gives him isn’t enough, and Peter tests just how far he can go. He travels all the way up Manhattan and into the Bronx, but whatever he’s looking for doesn’t seem to be there. He swings across the bridge and into Queens, but the familiar surroundings are like taking a thousand steps backwards, so he heads farther east into Long Island. He starts coming back to the tower later and later, although it’s still before his curfew, so Tony doesn’t say anything about it.

Peter’s days of an easy excuse to go escape further with Bruce in his lab are numbered. More often than not, now, Peter sits with Bruce as they review past results and compile Bruce’s paper.

“You know, we’ll put your name on this, too.” Bruce turns away from the monitors to look over at Peter, sprawled upside down in his own chair, laptop webbed to the underside of the table as he reads, blood rushing into his forehead and hair hanging down. Peter’s eyes go wide.

“Really?”

Bruce smiles fondly. “Of course. Tony will be credited for the lab space, and you contributed to the work.”

Peter just stares. His name. On a scientific paper. Next to Bruce Banner and Tony Stark.

He almost pinches himself.

 

Luck seems to be on his side, though, because just as he starts lamenting the loss of working with Bruce, the inspiration bug lodges itself under Tony’s skin. Peter comes home to find him one day with papers and holograms spread across the living area and up the window. Peter pats Dum-E, brought up from the lab and now puttering about the space, on his way over to where Tony is muttering to FRIDAY as he scratches his beard. Peter pauses to glance at one schematic, then raises his eyebrows.

“Nanotech,” Tony beats Peter to speaking as he looks over his shoulder at him. He’s got an excited glint in his eye. “I think I’m onto something here. Want to help?”

Tony wants it integrated into the suits. A housing unit to minimize time spent armoring up and space transporting it. The more Tony explains the mechanics behind it, the more possible it sounds, and of course Peter wants in on it.

They dive in head-first, and Peter falls into the habit of changing out of his suit after patrols to head straight down to the lab to join Tony. He even starts coming home sooner again to be able to be back with him, and he realizes how much he’s missed spending time with Tony. They’re like a well-oiled machine as they make designs and test them, often spending late nights working together and eating delivered food while leaning in over the glow of a shared monitor.

During these late nights, it’s always Peter who crashes first. Though, being reluctant to leave this bubble with Tony, he usually migrates over to the couch with a laptop, where he can annotate and contribute still while watching Tony as he tinkers and paces in front of his holograms in thought.

It’s doesn’t take long before Peter ends up drifting off to sleep there, and not too much time passes before he’s briefly roused by the laptop being pulled carefully from his hands and a blanket falling over him. Peter blinks his eyes open just enough to catch Tony’s small smile, and a gentle hand on the top of his head relaxes him again.

 

“So you’re going to be sixteen this summer.”

Peter looks over at Tony in surprise. They’re standing in the lab during one of their work days, taking a break while FRIDAY runs a few simulations. Tony has his eyes down as he scrolls through a tablet. Peter nods and smiles a little, confused. “Uh, yeah, in August.”

“You ever think about getting a learner’s permit and learning how to drive?”

“Oh. No, not really.”

“Well, why not? Now’s the time you kids start doing that, isn’t it?”

Peter shrugs. “It’s New York, and I’m Spider-Man. I can get places fine.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time you ask me to have Happy pick you up from somewhere.”

Peter gives him a half-hearted glare. “You know what I mean.”

“You just don’t want to be seen driving around with me,” Tony accuses as his lips tug into a smile.

Peter rolls his eyes “Yeah, whatever, Dad.” Peter stiffens, and his eyes widen.

Tony looks up from his tablet and raises an eyebrow at the expression on Peter’s face.

“Shit. Sorry. Tony, I mean, Mr. Stark, sir, I-” Peter cuts himself off and bites his lip anxiously as Tony just continues to silently look at him for a moment. Then the tablet is turned off and set down on the table in front of him as Tony straightens up. Peter’s anxiety plummets into confusion at the small smile on Tony’s lips.

“So, you jump all the way from ‘Dad’ back to ‘Mr. Stark?’”

Peter’s ears are burning red. “Uh. Sorry.” He ducks his chin in embarrassment and wishes the floor would swallow him whole. “We don’t have to-”

“Actually, I’ve been wanting to talk about this,” Tony interrupts quickly.

Come on, floor, any second now.

Tony walks over to the lab bench and pulls out a chair, beckoning for Peter to join him as he sits.

Well, guess Peter’s just not that appetizing to the cool tiles beneath his feet.

Peter cautiously moves forward and lowers himself into the chair across from Tony, keeping his eyes on him as he tries to gauge just how much trouble he’s in, or if he’s even in trouble at all.

Tony sits leaned forward, his elbows propped on his knees and hands clasped in front of him. His head is lowered a bit as he seems to mull over what he’s going to say. When he speaks, his voice is low. “My lawyers are really jumping down my throat right now, you know?”

Peter doesn’t know, so he doesn’t say anything.

“I didn’t want to tell you, for obvious reasons, but there’s actually been this ongoing fight of people trying to take you from me. I’m not a licensed foster parent. I managed to be granted custody, but that ice is getting real thin. I don’t want you to worry, because I will keep fighting these guys as long as I need to, but it’s getting harder.”

Tony pauses and meets Peter’s eyes. “I want you in a stable home, Peter. After everything you’ve been through, you deserve it. And really, that’s what these other guys want, too, but-” Tony hesitates and rubs his hands together as he looks to the side briefly. “I- you know my history. It’s all out there, and it’s being held over my head, no matter how I’ve tried to change to make this a good home. They think I’m a risk. They don’t think I’m serious. And the last thing I’ve wanted to do is overwhelm you and rush you into something you’re not comfortable with. But, you’ve said it a few times now.”

 Peter’s brow furrows in confusion, and Tony is quick to elaborate.

“First time was after the party, while we were on the couch. You fell asleep, and you called me ‘Dad’ when I put a blanket on you. And you’ve just done it again now. So, well, I don’t want to speak for you, but to me, that shows that at least some part of you is viewing me in that sort of way. And I hope that means you trust me, and you’re happy here,” Peter nods quickly, “and you’re maybe even starting to think of us as a family, and this place as your home.”

Tony smiles slightly before continuing. “You, calling me that, I don’t mind it. I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to keep doing that, either. And I want to show these guys that I’m serious, and not just to appease them, but because I genuinely do care about you, Peter, and I want you here with me. But for that to happen, I think I have to approach them soon with a serious offer, for you to stay here permanently. As, well, as my son. If you’ll accept it.”

Peter is frozen. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out at first. When it does, his voice is barely there. “You- you’re saying-” Peter takes a short, deep breath, and his eyes narrow as he leans forward slightly. “You want to adopt me?”

Tony nods. “I am.”

Peter’s voice is gone. He feels it leap from his vocal chords and escape to its vacation home way down in his gut, and he doesn’t think it’s coming back any time soon as he stares back at Tony’s kind eyes. His heart is trying to run, too, while his mind grinds to a halt.

Tony wants to adopt him.

Peter feels himself grinning, and breathlessly, he nods. He blinks, and excited tears wet and cool on his lashes. He reaches down deep and snatches his words back up into his throat, though they come out a bit choked. “Okay. Yes.”

The smile that breaks over Tony’s face makes Peter’s already racing heart flutter, and Tony laughs once without air. Tony leans in, arms opening, and Peter launches himself at him as they grab each other and grip each other tight. The arm around Peter’s back is holding him protectively, and there’s a hand in his hair as Tony turns his face into Peter’s neck. Peter ducks his chin into Tony’s shoulder and grins at the table behind him while they both breathe deeply.

 

They go out to celebrate. Happy runs into them on the way out, faltering a little at the breathless grins permanently plastered across both their faces, and insisting that he come along just in case when Tony explains where they’re going. Tony manages to brush him off. Today is for the two of them, together. While Happy finally relents, it’s a little begrudgingly and not without a large dose of confusion. Tony waves him off, and Peter doesn’t miss the gesture indicating that he’ll explain later.

Peter’s heart is still pounding. He feels giddy, and he sees the same reflected in Tony by the way he drums against his steering wheel and hums along to his music. The ice cream they get does nothing to help the matter, not that it’s a problem they’re both so ecstatic, but they walk through the park along the water and burn off a little of that energy.

Peter can’t stop looking over at Tony. Tony Stark. Is adopting him. Tony catches his gaze each time, and their smiles infect each other.

Sometimes the excitement building in both of them is too much, and Tony can’t catch his laugh in time to stop it before extending his arm and pulling Peter into his side. There are people all around them; it’s a gorgeous day and the park is filled, but Peter can only focus on Tony.

They’re standing together, looking out over the water. The sun has started setting, casting soft golden light over the crests of each ripple. Tony has his arm around Peter’s shoulders, and Peter leans his head on Tony’s shoulder as they breathe in sync. Hearts beat together. A light breeze ruffles Peter’s hair against his forehead. Tony’s hand squeezes Peter’s shoulder; he’s been doing that subconsciously, Peter thinks, pulling him closer against his side. Despite the evening chill starting to settle in the air, Peter has never felt safer or warmer.

Soon, Peter lifts his head and tilts it towards Tony, who immediately has his full attention on Peter. Peter smiles. “This was great. Thanks, um,” Peter pauses, looks down, tries the word silently on his tongue before meeting Tony’s patient eyes and saying it aloud, purposefully, for the first time. “Thanks, Dad.”

Peter’s never seen a grin like the one that Tony gives him. He turns to pull him more securely against his chest, and Peter shuts his eyes with a smile as he feels his lips against the top of his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends we are HERE


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just looked at the stats for this story and there are almost 900 of you subscribed. That's ??? Wild. Wow. Thank all of you so much for being on this journey with me.

Tony’s been freaking out.

Peter watches him spiral from his curled up position at the table with a glass of juice on his knees, as Tony moves rapidly around him. Opening the fridge and mumbling under his breath about the contents, glancing towards the hallway leading to the bedrooms, having FRIDAY take down reminders to tidy the garage and workspaces, make sure everything more dangerous than a screwdriver is neatly away and secured. Peter looks towards the wet bar, where all previous traces of alcohol have been swept away. Only glasses line the shelves now. Tony shuts the freezer and makes a beeline for who knows what over by the couches.

Tony is waking up even earlier now, or maybe he’s just never gone to bed, as he frets over every last inch of the penthouse. Good impressions. It’s at the forefront of Tony’s mind as he whips the already immaculate house into shape.

He catches Peter’s eye as he comes back into the kitchen, sees the amused smile that Peter knows he’s doing a bad job of biting back, and reaches out to ruffle Peter’s hair fondly before turning his focus to the piles of lab notes and Stark Industries paperwork scattered along the table.

“You know,” Peter hums as he watches, “this place doesn’t have to look like it’s been staged by realtors on HGTV. It can be a _little_ lived in.”

“First impression matters,” Tony mutters distractedly. “Not taking any chances. Not when it’s about you.”

Peter can’t help but smile again at the top of Tony’s head. He’s leaned over, frowning at a few pages with the Stark logo at the top.

“Just don’t worry about it too much. I’m sure the food in the fridge is fine, and whatever update you planned to the fountain over there-”

“-laying new brick to replace the water damage-”

“-is going to impress the caseworker.”

Tony glances up, and Peter softens his gaze.

“It’ll be fine.” Peter slides down from his chair and sets his glass on the tabletop. “I’m gonna go patrol, I’ll see you later?”

Tony’s mouth quirks. “Don’t be out too late, kid.”

“Alright.” He scoops up his backpack, then starts bounding towards the elevator. “I better not see childproof covers on the outlets when I get back!”

 

Peter has to admit that part of him has missed patrolling in Queens. It’s familiar, offering a different kind of escape that settles in his heart like nostalgia. Like everything is fine. He’s back in his old life again. He smiles at the buildings as he swings past, then webs his way up to the top of an apartment building, where another aspect of his old Spider-Man days sits waiting.

Ned leans cross-legged on the roof against the side wall of the access door, his laptop beside with a police scanner chiming in quietly every once in a while. He looks up from the sandwich in his hands when Peter lands beside him, then grins and points a mustard stained finger to a second bag on his other side.

“Got your disgusting usual,” Ned hums around a mouthful. “Number 5, no pickles, smushed down flat. Delmar says hi.”

Peter tugs his mask off and plops down beside Ned. “Thanks, man.” He tears into the paper and takes a bite.

“You catch that guy?” Ned licks his finger and looks at him excitedly.

Peter smiles and nods as he stretches one leg out. “Yep. Webbed him upside down and left a note. The cops should be finding him now.”

“Awesome.”

They eat for a while as Peter rests, talking idly and looking out over the rooftops of the buildings around them. It’s nothing important. They fall into silence for a bit and listen to the radio in search of anything interesting. Ned seems to grow tired of this and turns towards Peter.

“How’s Mr. Stark?”

Peter pauses, then speaks as if it’s the most casual thing in the world. “He’s adopting me.” He squints his eyes as he looks towards the setting sun.

Ned stares at Peter. “He is?”

“Yeah.” Peter can’t help the smile that pulls the corners of his mouth. “He asked me a few days ago **.** They’re going to do a home visit, and I think I have to talk to someone. It’s a lot more complicated than when Ben and May adopted me, I guess. But it’s happening.”

“That’s great, man.” Ned grins when Peter looks at him.

“Yeah.” Peter hesitates again and looks down, suddenly frowning. “I think it’s stressing him out, though.”

“Well, that’s probably normal.”

Peter shrugs. “But, like, I feel bad. I mean, I feel like maybe he thought he didn’t have a choice? He’s just changing his entire life for me and giving up a lot, and I can’t help but feel guilty about it. Like I just forced him into all of this when I called him that day.”

“Peter.” Ned sounds exasperated, so Peter meets his eyes. “Look. Just take a look at everything that’s happened for a second.” Ned holds up his hand to start counting things off on his fingers. “He rushed to the hospital to be with you. He invited you into his house. He supported you at the funeral. He stays up with you. He helps you every time you need it. He threw you a bomb ass party with all the Avengers, even if he didn’t really want to. He showed up with that dorky dad sign at decathlon. Shit- I’m running out of fingers.”

Ned frowns and looks at his hands, then ticks off an eighth. “ _He_ approached _you_ about the adoption.” Ned points at Peter, then drops his hands to his lap again. “He obviously cares about you, Peter. He wouldn’t have done all that if he didn’t, and the fact he’s taking all of this so seriously just shows that. He’s not just doing it because he thinks he has to.”

God, Peter really loves Ned sometimes. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

“Have you told MJ yet?”

Peter shakes his head. “Not yet. Just you so far.” He pauses. “Tony told War Machine, though, so the rest of the Avengers know.”

“Well, as your best friend and guy in the chair, I’m honored, but you should tell her! This is huge!”

“I will,” Peter laughs. “It’s just still new, you know?”

“Sure.”

 

The cleaning doesn’t seem to be working enough for Tony.

It appears to, at first, but it only takes a day for Tony to run out of things to perfect. So it’s back to the lab, and Peter gladly joins him. Again: at first.

“So I’m thinking we draw up some more schematics, have FRIDAY make a few models, and try for another prototype. I think we’re really close on this.” Tony’s eyes flit over the screens, one hand scratching at his beard while his other lays crossed against his chest.

Peter just hums from his seat at the lab table where he’s watching Tony, distracted, with his head propped up in one hand.

Tony yawns widely, then frowns and reaches for the half-full coffee mug on the desk in front of him. He studies the dark liquid tiredly. “Something’s wrong with this coffee. Maybe it’s expired – does caffeine expire?”

Peter sits up, the corner of his mouth tugging up a little as he tries to look innocent. “Uh. About that, I’ve been making you decaf for the last four hours.”

Tony whirls, offended, and Peter rolls his eyes at the dramatic expression.

“It’s getting late. You haven’t had a break – a real break – since yesterday.”

Tony dismisses him with a wave of his hand and starts walking away, a little stiffly, Peter notes. “I’m fine. You can take the couch, or head back upstairs, though. This won’t take long.”

“It’s nanotech, Tony,” Peter sighs as he turns to watch him. “It’ll take days to get to the next step.”

Tony doesn’t answer as he reaches the counter and starts shifting through the coffee grounds, and his frown only deepens as he digs through the different jugs. “Why do I have so much decaf? Where did my coffee go?” Tony pivots to look back at Peter, eyebrows raised.

Peter meets his eyes. “We need to go to bed.”

Tony huffs, and Peter expects him to argue, but he just squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose as he leans back against the counter. Peter wonders how long exactly this headache has been building. He approaches carefully.

“Please?” Peter tries again once he’s close. Tony drops his hand and reaches back to brace himself against the counter with both arms. He doesn’t look up from the floor.

“I’m not sleeping.” It’s simultaneously a decision and an admission. Peter latches onto the latter.

“Would anything help?” Peter asks hesitantly.

Tony shakes his head and releases a breath. “You don’t have to worry about it. You don’t need to deal with this.”

“It’s what you’d do for me.”

Tony’s eyes come up to look at Peter’s face, just for a moment, before he turns and grabs an empty glass to fill with water this time.

“I’ll take a quick break, alright? You go to bed. I won’t be down here too much longer.”

Peter opens his mouth to respond, but it dies on his lips as Tony moves around him and retreats in the direction of his desk again.

“You know, you’re going to be a junior next year. Now’s really the time to start seriously looking at colleges. Of course, I’m partial to MIT, but we can start taking you around to places, get you thinking about things-”

“Dad.”

Tony stops in his tracks. He stays still, though, and doesn’t turn around. Peter starts following him slowly, and at the sound of his footsteps, Tony tilts his head back enough to look up at the ceiling. His eyes are pinched while his jaw clenches. The silence stretches, but Peter just waits for Tony to break it. “You asked what would help,” he finally states, voice suddenly low.

Peter stands a few feet from Tony’s shoulder and pushes his hands into his hoodie pocket as he nods, uncertain. “Yeah.”

Tony sighs again, then looks down and takes a sip of his water. “Let’s go.” He tilts his head in the direction of the elevator before walking towards it.

Unsure of where this is going and still fighting against his instincts to backtrack and avoid crossing boundaries any more than he already has, Peter lingers in the lab before following. Tony calls the lights off once Peter joins him in the elevator. Tony leans against the back wall, and without looking up, opens his arm that isn’t holding the glass. Peter melts into his side, and Tony tugs him close.

Tony leads them all the way through the common area and towards their rooms, unspeaking, until he gets to his room. He pushes open the door, then nods inside before entering. “Come on,” he murmurs, though Peter detects that it’s less of a command and more of a request, with a doubtful edge that Peter will comply, but Peter enters just a step behind.

Some of Tony’s pajamas get tossed his way, and Tony rubs his temples before vanishing to the bathroom. Okay. Peter changes, then stands fiddling with the hem of his shirt until Tony emerges, now in sweats and a fresh t shirt.

Wordlessly, with only a nod of his head, Tony climbs under blanket and lays flat on his back. He reaches beside him and tugs down the comforter, and Peter joins him to curl up beside him. Tony’s arm wraps under his shoulder and tugs him against his chest, and Peter settles comfortably with his head on Tony’s chest, feeling the slow rise and fall of his breathing and the beat of his heart under his ear. Tony’s free hand lays over the back of Peter’s forearm.

“Is this okay?” Tony asks softly.

Peter nods slightly, not wanting to disturb Tony with the movement. “Yeah. Of course.”

They lapse back into silence, until: “They’re about you.” Tony’s voice is quiet and rumbles against Peter’s cheek. Peter says nothing, waiting for Tony to elaborate. It doesn’t take long. “The nightmares.” A long breath deflates his lungs, but his chest refills more quickly afterwards. “Sometimes it’s New York. Afghanistan. Other things. But, more recently-” Tony rubs his hand along Peter’s arm. “I didn’t want you to know.”

Peter has no idea what to say. Of course, he’d had his suspicions, but now? Actually talking about this with Tony? He’s lost. “What happens?” he ventures at an equal volume.

Peter hears the scratch of Tony’s hair on the pillow as he shakes his head as a response. Peter doesn’t push it. “I just thought- you, being here-” Tony struggles before giving up. “It might help.”

Peter shifts his head a little in an attempt to see Tony’s face, but in the darkness and at this angle, all he can see is the curve of his other shoulder and some stray stubble down his neck. “I’ll stay.”

Tony swallows and nods.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you to all of you!

“What do you think of Stark?”

The question takes Peter completely off guard. His eyes tear away in surprise to look at Tony beside him on the couch. The light of the television casts a blue glow over his skin and shines in his eyes as he gazes back calmly. Behind him, the lights of the city below flicker against the night sky.

“What? Stark, like, Tony Stark? You? Or, Stark Industries-?” Peter blinks in confusion at the question, thrown into the open with no context during their relaxing movie night.

“No,” Tony states slowly as he looks away, towards the screen. “Well, actually, yes, like Tony Stark. I mean the name. Stark. What do you think?”

Peter just stares as the weight of the meaning collapses onto him. He opens his mouth, only to draw a blank. Thankfully, filling silence has always been Tony’s strong suit.

“Of course, it carries a lot of baggage. There’s no denying that.” Tony shifts as he lays his head back. He’s sitting with his arms crossed over his chest, feet kicked up onto the coffee table. It’s obvious now that he’s been distracted by this topic for the entire movie so far, and he’s nervous. His eyes focus on a point on the wall just above the screen.

“There’s the recognition, and the press. Being a Stark will never be a completely inconspicuous lifestyle. And there’s the family itself. And, well, the late great Howard Stark was a real piece of work, so having you associated with him is less than thrilling, but Maria Stark, she was a hell of a woman.” Tony pauses and works his jaw in thought. “And there’s me. Stark would be synonymous with my entire past. With the weapons, the stupid mistakes, the things I- I would never want any of it haunting you.”  

“But you’re also Iron Man,” Peter cuts in, just barely above a whisper, like part of him is afraid to speak. Tony’s head lifts and turns to focus on him.

Tony releases a breath and nods with a quirk of his mouth. “I am Iron Man,” he agrees, and Peter’s smile grows a bit. “Yes. But even that also comes with a whole deluxe walk-in closet of skeletons. The name Stark bears them all.” Tony drops his head back again. “And I haven’t even mentioned Stark Industries and its legacy. And the expectation people would have for the next Stark.” Tony seems to struggle, and Peter repositions himself to face Tony fully, leaning his shoulder against him. “We don’t have to talk about that now, and no, before you say it, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

Peter thinks for a moment. “I’m going to be your son,” he starts carefully. “So, all of that is already a given. Name or not. And I- I don’t care. I can’t control what people might think, but, being associated with you, that’s not a bad thing at all. Having you as my dad?” Peter can’t help the grin, and Tony’s hard expression warms. “And, well, people are going to find out anyway. Eventually. I won’t exactly be able to hide forever.”

Peter stops as it dawns on him. He’s going to be Tony Stark’s son. He’d never considered the publicity that would inevitably come with that, once the news breaks. Strangers will suddenly be interested in him. The press. Paparazzi? Will they be trying to shake out every last detail of his life for the curious public’s pleasure? Every secret?

Spider-Man.

“I will keep you protected, Peter.” Tony’s eyes are firm as he follows Peter’s rapidly spiraling train of thought, and Peter locks onto that gaze. “No matter what. No matter your name, no matter your relation to me. I will do everything I can to keep them away from you and keep you private and safe. Just like I’ve always done.”

Peter can only nod. Tony uncrosses his arms at last, opening them, and Peter doesn’t hesitate to curl against his side with his head in that familiar place on Tony’s shoulder. The television drones on, and New York buzzes distantly. He believes Tony. He feels safe.

“You don’t have to decide about the name right now. The name can always change, too, if you decide in the future.”

“I-” Peter stumbles and pauses. “I think- I need to think about it, but-” He picks at his thumbnail in his lap. “Peter Stark.” He says it slowly and clearly, and he feels Tony lift his chin at the sound. Hearing it gives him a little thrill, too. “I- I like it.”

 

When Tony had first brought up the offer of adoption, Peter had been excited. His mind had buzzed, and every part of his mind screamed yes. It still does, when he looks at Tony, when they sit in the lab together and he catches Tony watching him solve a problem. His expression is completely unguarded, and fondness and pride mingle in his gaze. He feels it on those nights when, even with the overtime of Spider-Manning and mental gymnastics in the lab, Peter still can’t get his mind to properly shut down and opts to migrate to Tony’s room. When Tony sniffs awake and no more than blinks up at Peter before he’s shifting over to make room. When he doesn’t interrogate Peter about what’s keeping him up and just lets Peter settle against his side and listen to his heart beat steadily.

It feels right. This is where he belongs. It feels like this should happen; it’s supposed to.

Which is why Peter finds it wholly unfair that the process is so long and complicated.

Two people come to the penthouse, dressed smartly and professionally closed off aside from the smiles they offer Tony and Peter as they enter. Peter tries not to fiddle with his sleeves too much, and while Tony has flipped that automatic switch to turn on his classic Stark charm, Peter can still feel the nerves radiating off of him. He knows that he wants this to go well, and Peter isn’t going to mess it up by letting his anxiety show. He’s not going to give them anything to latch onto beyond the image of a happy home. He can’t have their imaginations wandering.

He knows how they study him. When they’re not addressing him or Tony, their eyes are scanning the penthouse, and it feels like they’re picking apart every single visible – and probably invisible, who knows – detail about the place. Peter plays it cool, and thank god Tony is there to take the lead and ease him into casual banter during the tour. They ask about how the two of them met, and Peter hopes the story of the internship is enough to satisfy. They ask about May, and Tony’s hand tightens on Peter’s shoulder. There are questions about school, and what Peter likes to do, and Peter can almost relax with the mundaneness of it, until they ask for a moment alone with him.

He’d known it was coming, but it still sends Peter’s adrenaline up the wall. Tony, however, obliges, though he turns to Peter and gives him a reassuring smile. “I’ll just be in the other room.” Peter nods.

He sort of – goes blank, for the entire interview. All he’s aware of really is his palms sweating and the desire to let his leg bounce. Beyond their questions, and the answers he’s anticipated needing to give and has rehearsed shamelessly in front of the bathroom mirror before bed, he strains his ears past the common room, until his enhanced hearing picks him up. Tony’s heartbeat, steady, and his measured breaths. And in between those breaths, quiet words. “You’re alright, Peter.”

He anchors himself to that, and the smiles he gives come a little easier.

It goes on forever, though, and Peter just wants to groan and throw his head back in exasperation, tell them that no, he’s not some sort of captive, this is what he wants, more than anything else, and they can take that information and leave already, but he restrains himself. It would be such a Tony Stark move, though, he thinks, and maybe that would be proof in itself that he belongs here.

They finally seem satisfied, and Tony is back at Peter’s side. He flashes his teeth in mock hospitality, thanks them for taking time out of their day, and walks them back to the elevator. Once it’s shut and safely on its way, Tony releases a long breath and turns to lean back against the wall. Peter takes that opportunity to wrap himself around Tony’s chest, and Tony rests his hand in Peter’s hair. Tony’s heart is pounding.

“I think it went well,” Tony breathes.

“I think so too,” Peter agrees quietly. It had to have. The hardest part is over, right? Now they just have to wait.

 

The waiting is actually the worst part, Peter soon realizes. Each day that passes in uncertainty, he’s growing more and more restless, and every hiccup he made during the visit is amplified on a loop in Peter’s mind. He tries to distract himself. He makes plans with Ned and MJ to go out. He fishes cats out of trees. He steps in front of impending car crashes every once in a while. He hangs upside down off the couch in the penthouse while he and Tony talk shop.

They dive back into the nanotech together, and the first time a gauntlet springs from the watch and assembles itself around Tony’s wrist, he almost fires it in shock at the success. Dum-E chirps and raises the fire extinguisher, but Peter and Tony stumble over each other to talk it down.

They pass out in the lab that night, having gone into a manic work binge while riding the resulting excitement. Peter falls asleep first, slumped on his usual couch with a tablet just brushing his fingertips. He stirs when he feels a blanket fall over his back, followed by hands smoothing it out over his shoulders, and he hums sleepily. “Thanks, Tony.”

He next opens his eyes to sunlight slanting in over his face, and Peter screws his eyes shut tighter and turns his face into the pillow. With a groan, he throws his arm down to hang over the side of the couch, wanting nothing more than to slip back into his dreams, but a soft chuckle draws his attention.

He lifts his head, blinking his vision into focus, and locates Tony approaching the seating area. He’s showered and dressed already. Peter can see the shine of water still in his hair, and he’s carrying a mug of coffee in one hand and a manila envelope in the other.

“Good morning.” He sits in the chair closest to Peter’s head. “Sleep alright?”

Peter settles for a grunt in response as he plops back down. “’Time is it?” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep.

“Just after ten. Here, I’ve got something for you. I thought about telling you later, but I figured you’d kill me if I kept it from you.”

That draws Peter’s attention, and he pushes himself up slowly as he frowns at Tony’s face curiously. Tony wordlessly passes over the envelope.

Peter’s heart stops when he opens it. All traces of tiredness are gone, and he blinks once, twice, as he processes what he’s looking at.

“Is this-?”

“We have a court date.”

 

Tony repeatedly assures Peter that it’s a simple formality, that they’re essentially in the clear. Coming from Tony, it should put Peter at ease, but he knows that the nerves won’t stop until it’s officially over. His anxiety buzzes loud in his ears, and no amount of patrolling seems to be working to put him at ease.

Tony does help, though. Tony always helps. His smiles and the pats to his shoulder linger just a little longer, a silent promise that everything will be fine, that everything is fine, finally, and Peter puts all his effort into believing it.

Peter can’t stop tracing the pattern in the judge’s tie. He can’t seem to look anywhere else. The dark wood of the court room feels like it’s moving towards him, closing in, egging him on to make some sort of mistake. It’s trying to intimidate him out of here, so he just looks at the speck of paisley poking out from under the robe.

Rhodey is here, too, as a witness, and he sits on Tony’s other side. Peter barely notices him, if he’s being honest. Tony has his arm stretched casually along the back of Peter’s chair, and Peter envies him for currently embodying all things calm and collected and borderline disinterested. He’s not worried. Why can’t that be Peter? The hand shifts to lightly grip Peter’s shoulder when he has to speak, just answer simple consent questions. It should be easy. It is. Tony’s constant presence reminds him of that.

Maybe Peter isn’t anxious about messing up, he realizes eventually, when the paperwork comes out. He’s just itching to have this over. He doesn’t want to leave because he’s nervous. He’s excited.

There’s a tremor in his hand as he holds the pen over the page. He blinks at the signature line and draws a breath. Everyone waits calmly, in no rush, as Peter repeats the name silently in his mind.

Peter Stark.

He’s about to become Peter Stark.

It looks strange on the paper, once he’s finished, and he stares at it for a moment. Peter Stark, not Peter Parker. It’s foreign, it’ll take some getting used to, but it feels good. He smiles and looks back up at the judge, who returns the gesture.

And it’s over. It’s finished before Peter fully processes it, but suddenly Tony is turning to him, and it’s when Peter meets his eyes that it hits him. Tony lets out a breathless laugh. There are tears in Peter’s eyes, and he throws himself into Tony’s waiting arms.

“We did it,” Tony says into Peter’s hair. “We did it, kid.”

The room around Peter disappears as he ducks his head to press into Tony’s shoulder. They’re both openly crying, and laughing, and clinging to each other, even though there’s no reason that the other is going to go anywhere anytime soon.

Not anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven’t been adopted or really been close enough with anyone who has so be gentle if all of this is wrong. I was really out of my element with this one, but with all the care I’ve put into this so far, I couldn’t bring myself to just gloss over the adoption.  
> But. They’re official.


End file.
